Blood
by SludgeCrankcase
Summary: A series of violent crimes have been committed. And it is up-to the C.I.D. to solve the case which will not only test their at-most skills but also it will test their humanity, and the bile in their body. Daya's loneliness arises questions about his sanity and verdict in the leading case. When humanity turns its heel, a monster so diabolical, and nightmarish resides deep within.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N:_** Hello, everyone. I've come to publish a C.I.D. story of mine. I am big fan of the show but I must confess most of the episodes are quite blunt and unnecessarily slow and dull. I liked the older episodes, and enjoy watching the re-runs of the show when I feel like. Okay, so, I must warn you beforehand before I get the heat from all the fans of characters. I'm not entirely biased towards any character but character development is something that the show lack, we have no ideas of other respective officers past or family—which often irritates me, due to which I thought I should write a fanfiction on it. This may contain a back story and somewhat jumbled point of views, but I'm willing to spare my time building up an arc so haunting and somewhat disturbing and hopefully complex, not to mention a little challenging for the officers to track.

Now, Daya will probably be OOC here, along with everyone, so consider the story as an **Alternate Universe** story arc. It may portray many characters in negative lights, but I want to add the least of reality in the mix. Okay, so, I don't dislike neither Freddy or Pankaj's characters, they are supposed to be comic relief on the show, but sometimes it gets kind of annoying—the antics, so please I apologize if I hurt anyone sentiments by making some statements. But in order to follow a characters personality I had to think like they think, so many things will probably arise which might offend people.

If you get easily offended, then please: **_Do Not Read This Story._**

I enjoy crime related shows and horror a lot, and I have taken inspirations from few English crime/mystery shows Hannibal, True Detective, Blue Bloods to name a few.

I condemn everything that I've written and which I'll probably write in future. I don't support substance abuse, child abuse, smoking, drinking, nudity, and violence, or any crime to begin with.

**Rated: M** or** 18+**

**Disclaimer: **Show belongs to Sony TV India, and Mr. B. P. Singh.

**_WARNING:_** Story contains a lot of violence, gore, and coarse language, and nudity, mentions of drug abuse, child abuse, smoking and alcohol. If you're offended by any of the mentioned things then turn away.

**All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**

* * *

_**BLOOD**_

_Chapter 1__: Silence  
_

_11:27 P.M. _

The night life, so amazing—bedazzling and ruckus, when the note hits high and the drugs run through the blood in the veins that is when fun begins. There are people who enjoy them just for the sake of constant orgasmic feeling while there are some who like to get high. An artificial fuel, illegal—substance abuse; well quietly available in India if someone scrutinize at the right places. Generation that feeds on these knows how high they get and how energetic they feel. Careless of the consequences, not caring about the abuse their body undergo through.

The music shakes their very blood, which is when they start to dance, some suggestive, some just let it all out. Few fights occur every now and then, but all partly available to spend the night with the opposite sex. Everything is entertainment, everything is good, and everything is pathetic and everything just sucks when...

"Hey sexy, what do you say? Chalogi ghar khelne ke liye?" Nonchalantly he grabbed a dame's thigh, forcefully tugging her towards his morbidly large torso. Clearly, steroids had run its course on him—as the whole anatomy are bloated with muscles. Somehow he managed to lean further on the petite girl on her twenties, who had no idea what was going through.

Clearly offended by the gesture, she shrugged his hands violently, "Abey chutiye, apne aukaat mein reh. Jyada udd mat, tu janta nahin main kaun hoon."

"Arey toh jaan lenge janemann, itni akkad sehat ke liye achi nahi hai." He forcefully leaned some more to which the young woman shoved the man away, and called for someone. The big guy, in his testosterone induced rage got angrier by seconds.

"What was that bitch?"

"Balls," She replied, and man got more violent as his hands raised, ready to hit the woman but was interrupted by a kick to the stomach. The larger man staggered back, leaning forward to ease the pain. Looking up he saw, a well suited man—bald, and tall. The beard on him looked more intimidating that the teaser's muscles.

"Kaun hai bey tu?" asked the steroid guy enraged he charged, but was grabbed by the throat and slammed into the ground rather vehemently. It knocked the air out of him.

"Bahar chal tujhe batata hun." He yelled through the music unto his year. Tugging on the big guy's Tee he charged through the pile of people dancing to the music with the guy in his tail.

Getting to the south side, a man was there who hurriedly opened the door. The bald man threw the steroid enraged guy outwards towards the alley and followed suit.

"Dhyaan se sun gandu, tu jisse baat kar raha tha who iss jagah ki malkeen hai. Agar agli baar yahaan pe tera saaya bhi dikha, toh haath aur pair, courier se jayega tere maa ke paas. Samjha?" He knelt down before the fallen man, who was breathing hard in rage but was incapable to act learning the threat was real. "Aur tu kar kya raha tha be? Ladki dekhi nahi, ki pant tight? Steroid leta hai na tu? Guess the shrunken balls made you realize you're not man enough for a good girl, so you're here expecting a bad one hmm? Guess what? Tu dono deserve nahi karta."

The man tried to punch the bald guy, but was interrupted when he grabbed his muscular arm mid-way.

"Tere jese logon ki vajaha se badnaam ho rehe hai clubs. Saala aish karo tum, aur police aye toh hum? Chal fut yahaan se." As he walked back, he spit towards the fallen man.

Pride broken, and somewhat still shocked— rage driven, the man picked himself up. Swallowing his ego a little more, he vowed to keep this beating a secret till he was cremated. Means long years ahead to go for a nineteen year old roided up young man like him. As he walked towards the exit of the alley way, he heard quiet choking noises—few yards behind where he was. Curiously and cautiously he walked towards the source…

He reached the spot and saw nothing, concluding it must be his imagination; he dismissed the notion of someone being there with him. Had he taken took much drugs in his system? Perhaps, that might be the reason. Now he needs to get to his hostel somehow. Taking a step back he felt a water droplet fell on upon his shoulder, and the pace was rhythmic. He used his palms to catch the droplets.

Few drops later, he scrutinized down and hard, it was red—somewhat gooey, he tasted it and it was salty… like blood. His eyes widened in realization and looked up only to be horrified at what he saw.

A man stripped from skin, stark naked, and his flesh was hooked with the help of motor bike chains between both walls. His gooey blood fell from his gut—intestines hung downwards. Clearly missing his eyes as it had been sewn shut and so were his mouth. His arms wide open and so were his legs, spread apart. The man was breathing steadily slow—weak almost as the life was hanging on a thread, much like him.

Scared, and nauseous all of a sudden the bulky teenager fell on his back, he went to shock and found himself difficult to breathe. Hyperventilating, he crawled backwards still looking at the somewhat 'almost' corpse. Getting back to his feet, he managed to find his footing and soon he ran out of the place—panicked and torn for life. That would definitely leave a mark on his very soul.

…

_6:35 A.M._

A man on his early forties swiped his fingers on his annoying phone which had been ringing for past few minutes. Although he had swiped it before, however the offending machine hadn't stopped its cry every 5 minutes. Opening an eye, he realized he had been swiping at snooze, completely missing at stop pattern. He groggily woke up, it was Saturday and he was Tarika's place with his best buddy Abhijeet for a movie. Nevertheless, the movie sucked but the conversation was interesting. The three of them were close, and they talked and joked about everything from the bureau to their forensic, well, more like Abhijeet and Tarika did for most part of their eventful day.

_Dost_

Growing up, he faced a lot of troubles, and as an orphan it was much difficult since there was no one to guide him; to tell him what was good and bad. He learned it himself, the morals he learnt by being friends with a girl much older than him. He won't deny she was his spiritual tutor growing up. Obviously, she became something more to him; she had about 3 years on him, and she was his first crush. Like many men in the past twenty something year old had done, he kept it hidden. What else would he do when the girl thought of him as a little brother? So he kept quiet.

Her father considered him akin to a boy he didn't had. So he paid for his school fees only for admission, while Daya somehow got scholarships based on his physical prowess throughout his school and college paying his own fees. He joined the Police Force out of curiosity, as he was an exceptional athlete through-out his academic career. The sports reservation got him a respectable job, and the moral teaching he got when he was a child and a motivation to somehow get the girl's attention was overwhelming. Nevertheless, he became a perfect man for any girl to desire, but his own desire got married to someone else.

So he kept it hidden, carrying that little burden with him till now.

He surely was lonely, he wouldn't deny. Now it was too late to be married anyway. If he wanted he could advertise at some matrimonial website and ask for a widowed or a divorced woman. But the thought of getting married was so old for him now and it was frustrating and it was rather embarrassing to do so as well. He was almost in his mid-forties, and within few he'll complete 5th decade after his birth.

_Age_

No point in finding a girlfriend at 40s anyway. It sounds silly, awful and downright creepy. Perhaps he should get a pet, and few plants maybe he could spend his time gardening on his porch. Least those things might distract from his desperation at getting married. He couldn't help it; the people around him always bothered him asking when he was getting married. If the question were if he wanted to get married then the answer was simple. But the question was when he is getting married? And that made everything complicated.

Half his life he contributed to serve justice, and maintain order within the bureau and the force. And he lost many things along the way, few friends and his love, and of course time. Time made him old, somewhat fat and lonely. He had a brother, Abhijeet but soon he'll be married to Tarika and no matter how the man convinced him that he won't forget about his best-friend, it was still a fact—that he will. Everyone does, and every one will.

Brushing his teeth he saw his own reflection, chubby cheeks concealed within thick stubble. The grey shadows over it made his appearance intimidating and mature, so he decided he'll let it be today. As a senior officer, and an experienced one, he can take any appearance he desire. ACP never scolded anyone of their appearance, the old man only cared about work result, and everything else did not matter to the older wiser man.

His soul was corroding. And he willingly accepted the fact.

He saw the clock on the wall which read 7:00; he went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. This will approximately take 45 minutes to be exact. He ate a lot, oily and ghee and over that his desert was tea, or so he believed. His life had no order, he liked it that way—guess that's what it is for a bachelor for life.

_Loner_

_8:47 A.M._

Daya was now officially ready to go for work. Today he chose a black full-sleeve shirt which was not tucked unto his pants, like he had doing the way for past few weeks completed with matching black jeans. The steel strapped watch was heavy on his large left wrist, while on the write remained a bracelet; his lady loved had gifted him. Getting his boots on, he checked for his Royal Enfield's key, and his helmet. Grabbing both he made his way out of his home. Double locking it, he remembered whether he had kept all his lights off, also water, he finally made it his heavy weight bike.

It roared to life, as Daya kick started and rode it across the route towards his office.

It always took an hour if there was no traffic, the reason he left his home early was to avoid the rush. No particular point—it was not necessary to reach office with a tempered head. Mumbai, which was still hot and somewhat crowded even before 9 always, gets under his skin.

A man suddenly jumped in-front of his speeding bike, and hurriedly Daya clutched his brake, the heavy bike due to the disc brake faltered on the spot.

"Dekh ke gaadi nahi chala saktha toh chalata kyun hai?" the middle aged man who jumped yelled at Daya, unknown of the fact that this 6'2'' giant could crush him right there.

"Subah subah chadhaa ke niklaa hai kya ghar se?" Daya retorted, and kicked his bike on, "Abhi yeh Dosho kilo ki gaadi gand ke upaar se guzar jati toh sayad akal atti."

The middle aged man ignored and crossed his path. Hearing the cars behind him honking at him, Dayanand Shetty shook his head dejectedly and drove his way towards his office.

He reached five minutes late; the constable guarding their office gate saluted him as he entered the building's parking spot. Locking his handle bar, he dropped his helmet on the mirror and strolled towards the entrance. Posture relaxed, chest up—prideful; making sure his position as a senior inspector would prevail like any other day for their junior officers. No matter how miserable he was in real life, it should not affect how he acted professionally. He was robust, straight-forward, cunning, hot-head and utterly violent with criminals. He deserved respect, and being miserable won't make him a respectable person, so he wore a mask—so unreadable and frustrating for the others to study. Senior Inspector Daya's unreadable persona was much more complicated than Senior Inspector Abhijeet's.

"Sir!" He heard two different voices; a panicky and annoying while the other whiny Freddy/Pankaj. They saluted him and he nodded towards them in response.

"Arrey sir aaj toh aap kaafi ache dikh rahe hai," The whiny one complimented, or was simply kissing a senior officer's behind. Bureaucracy, of course the lower level would try to impress the upper, that's how every office under go through.

"Haan, sir… Daadhi jach rahi hai aapko," Freddy added, competing against each other at everything. Daya wondered why Freddy was still a Sub-Inspector despite joining the CID office even before him and all those years of ass-kissing.

"Kitne baje tum dono yahaan par aate ho?" He knew the answer, fifteen minutes earlier than him. Both of them lived near each other, they were practically neighbors now. Pankaj, the young Sub-Inspector who had a lot of potential is now officially a dim-root in the tree of CID. Freddy's guidance was as good as a worm fighting for its life to a chicken—absolute shit, useless. If Freddy wanted the young man to be absolute pathetic, then sure he was doing a wonderful job.

"9 bajkar 15 minute," they replied in unison. Perfectly aware of every one's timing Daya ignored their universal reply, and further asked.

"Woh report complete kardi hai tumne, Freddy?"

"Unhone toh nahi ki, Sir, mujhe woh filey thama di, Freddy sir ne." Pankaj interrupted.

"Acha beta! Tu toh naya officer hai, toh kuch kaam sikhle mujhse." Freddy clearly offended, he retorted in his usual whiny voice. A vein popped in Daya's temple; there they go—belittling each other.

"Kya sikhega, Freddy? Ki kaise aankh band karke goli chalaai jaye?" It flew out of his mouth like nothing, but seeing the hurt flash in Freddy's eyes, guilt ate his very heart. Daya sighed, and turned his heel towards his cabin, he left the two mulling over at Daya's statement. Though he called out, "Pankaj woh files leke mere paas aa jana."

Person by person and officials entered slowly, crowding their office. By then no one disturbed Daya, as he signed few solved cases on the files provided by Pankaj. Like he expected it had every tiny detail written like a manuscript, the young man had skills—though his detecting ability was top-notch it still need and deserved a few furnishing. And yes, something was needed to be done about his fear of non-existing entities, it tampered with cases.

A potential no one cared about.

Not like Freddy was useless, his information retrieving and connection with informants were really good. But unlike Pankaj, he had no deduction capabilities of a detective or bravado to stand before an alpha criminal. But his tenure as being beside the greatest ACP who was still an ACP made him somewhat of a wall to get a demotion. Daya, tried numerous times to make the senior Sub-Inspector to at-least be brave at complex situations, which may have been a credential in getting ahead, but that was not the case. He was a coward, and a cowardice officer no matter his skills was still useless. The only thing he was good at and full of was gossip.

The most dedicated with a large of amount of potential officer he had ever met was Vivek, dedicated in every cell his physique consisted of, courageous and athletic; he was currently working for the Interpol, already made it to the post of Inspector—like he always desired. And their current line-up the dedicated were Sachin, Nikhil, well he does cry the most amongst them, the women were strong as well, except for Ishita who was fairly new to the job but since Purvi and Shreya were her role models she'll turn up fine. They lived up to his expectation, surely they were all good. Just the bad fish in the pond was Freddy, and he was probably ruining the short young man Pankaj's career preventing him to prevail.

Nikhil arrived near his cabin, and his head peeked through the glass door and said, "Sir, aapko ACP sir bula rahe hai."

Nodding, Daya stood up and walked towards ACP's cabin.

"Aapne bulaya, Sir?" he stood before the table and behind it, sat ACP checking his phone. The older widowed man was an idol for him and everyone. A man who chose his duty—justice over his son, he sacrificed many and asked for none. He was surely an ideal officer, in the whole department.

"Ye dekho Daya," He handed his phone to him looking morose, and slightly anxious somewhat disturbed. Still looking at ACP, he retrieved his boss' phone and was visibly shaken to his very stomach—his urge to vomit was done when he took deep breaths to calm his violent nerves. The picture revealed of a man hooked and hung in between the walls of an alley. Apparently, the bike chains were pierced through one hand to the other which was struck to both sides on the wall. Skin had been peeled off at some places, gutted and fingers chopped off; eyes and lips sewn shut. It was an atrocious scene to see, and somehow the picture made it to the internet, from which ACP was showing him the picture.

"Aaj raat ke 4 baje kisine iske bare mein Vikhroli Chawkey ko call karke bataya, ab dekho subah subah kisine photo khich ke internet pe daal di hai. Yeh already viral ho chuka hai, aur media vale police ke naak mein dum karke rakha hai."

"Par abhi tak hamare pass iske bare mein koi call nahi ayaa hai, Sir."

"Aaya nahi toh aa jayega, tumhe issliye bulaya ki yeh case sayaad abtak ki sabse badi chunauti hogi. Aisa haal kisi criminal ne nahi ki hai abtak. Photo dekh kar lag raha hai ki ye qaatil isko exhibit kar raha hai." ACP got off his chair, and walked towards the window and looked beyond towards the city where he was sworn as an ACP. Pradyuman sincerely loved this city more than anything; he shared memories of the ever changing, ever evolving bureau. A team of new generation stars, ready to replace them ahead in future. Did he ever want to leave his place? He underwent various offers of promotion just for the sake of memories. He wanted to stay right where he was, as a shield against Chitrole, that man will surely destroy the entire team if it weren't for him. As his wife and son both are dead, CID is the only family he had. Just like a father he was here to protect his family against the DCP.

And his sons were Abhijeet and Daya in his little family.

Soon entered, Purvi , distressed and clearly shaken, that is when Daya deducted the reason behind it. It seems they had seen the picture of that man.

"Hum ne dekhi hai, Purvi."

She nodded and said,"Sir, chawkey se call aya tha,who log hamein bula rahe hai."

Pradyuman ordered, "Daya, tum Pankaj aur Freddy ko lekar jao."

"Lekin sir, Freddy wahaan pe ulti-vulti karne lagega." Hearing Daya's response, ACP glared at him. He was perfectly aware of Daya's dismissing behavior towards Freddy; the man always dismissed Freddy's abilities. The man who was with him even before Daya joined the CID. And he had the audacity to question Freddy's skills?

"Jo bola hai woh karo, Daya!" the older man scoffed, "Tumhe yaad dila dun ki CID mein who tumse senior hai."

"But hai toh sub-inspector hi, nahi? Sir, bas purane ho jane se chijo ki keemat hi badhti hain lekin woh kaam nahi atte."

"Bas bahot ho gaya Daya!" He yelled so loud that Purvi cringed, fearing she'll be scolded for eaves dropping she excused herself out from the cabin. But before she left she heard, Daya's own fearless attempt at answering.

"Bas bahot ho gaya sir…" ACP stood motionless at Daya's nonchalantly interruption. Never had he done something like this before, this man was not Daya. He did not display the least of emotion or guilt when he did it. Staying silent he let the large man talk, "…bas bahot hua. Har roz koi na koi dinge sunta rehta hoon usse main, bas ussi mein ustaad hai woh. Aur uske wajah se, Pankaj waisa hi behave karne laga hai. How much case had he solve this year sir? A total of five, and that too he took credit of Pankaj. Mujhe samajh nahi aata woh kis kaam ka hai bureau ke liye? Haan ye man leta hun ki informants uske paas sabse se jyada hai, lekin office mein tikne ke liye sirf informants hi kaafi nahi hoti hai sir. Detecting, courage, deduction all are necessary, which he clearly lacks. Kitni baar usse kaha hai serious ho jaane ke liye lekin woh kabhi sunta hi nahi. Ek responsibility hoti hai senior hone ke baad, lekin usko yeh baat samajh main aati kahan? Ache khase Pankaj ki capabilities to paani mein gayi."

Hearing Daya speak his heart out, ACP closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His wrinkles and charms fading rapidly, but still he had the fire unlike many his age. He observed Daya after a decade, and this time intently, from head to toe. Long gone his athlete figure, now he seemed like a retired body builder with a belly, long gone were the innocence in his face, he looked much matured and intimidating now. Clearly, Pradyuman was aware the man was in his early 40s' and for certain he, being a bachelor till now was affecting him. The changes seemed like he accepted his eternal bachelorhood, it made him grumpy, more arrogant and wild as a boar without anyone to look after him

Yes, perhaps that was the reason behind Daya's temper. He was lonely, and Freddy and Abhijeet were not. He was jealous, and was perhaps not known to the fact. And he was picking on Freddy because he did not consider the married man as his friend. Abhijeet was a different case, he was his best-friend or so the world believed. But understanding an introverted person such like Daya is much difficult. No one knew what he was thinking, and what he might do unless he acts so.

"Acha phir thik hai," ACP looked beyond Daya, his gaze piercing through the glass wall and fell upon Pankaj who was going through a report. "Pankaj ko lekar jao, lekkin dhyaan rakhna, who emotionally aur mentally scarred ho jayega."

Surprised, that ACP did not berate him—Daya folded both his arms in front of his chest—it looked defensive, "Chinta mat kijiye sir, woh itna darpok nahi jitna humlog samajhte hai."

"Toh thik hai, usse leke niklo." Saluting the senior most office, Daya sauntered out of the cabin. He called out Pankaj who was currently typing few things on the computer and walked towards him in his confident stride.

"Tumne woh photo toh dekh hi li hogi," and the young man nodded dumbly, "Aaj tumhara lucky din hai." Hearing the statement from Daya, his eyes widened in disbelief. The young man wondered whether if his senior inspector will take him to a treat; it was quite obvious he was hungry. He always had a bottomless pit of hole, where he shoved down as much food as possible. But he did mention about the picture which had gone viral few hours prior. But looks like that wasn't the case, it was worthless even to think so.

Perhaps, he will finally be considered as a serious officer—it seems the senior Inspector had already did it. Guess it was his lucky day after-all. But, he needed confirmation.

"Main kuch samjha nahi sir,"

And then the senior Inspector smiled, it rather looked intimidating from the beard perspective but it was genuine, "Samajh jaoge, tayaar ho aaj tak ki tumhara sabse chunauti bhara kam ke liye?"

A nod was a sign of approval despite how dumb or idiotic it may be— it was still an approval. Knowing this Daya walked towards the vehicle parking, followed by Pankaj—who stole a glance at Purvi who returned his gaze curiously and then at Freddy who hid his face behind the monitor but perfectly aware of his presence; two of his good friends one last time and was got out of the scene.

…

A man had his time, present only to himself. However, drinking at working hour can lead to a hectic and somewhat awful day. But Arjun Kesav Narang had nothing to live up-to, a job—none, family, yes—a sister. And when someone is going through a serious memory lapse problem can be dangerous to live in a city like a Mumbai. The fragments of his deeds can never stay imprinted on his memory, and neither does pain.

His inability to feel pain caused a lot of annoyance to his abusive father, whose face he cannot remember for some days now unless he was reminded of. His sister had tried many times to remove the tag—the surname of Narang for ages, but it was a mark of shame—and apparently it cannot be washed through any means. Not even the holy river could do it so, which turned him a non-believer.

How old was he anyway? All he was aware of was the fact of being younger than his sister, Manju—his stability, his ability to understand humanity. But, alas, he did not know. He feared nothing, as he could hear nothing. No one feared him, as he could not speak anything—not even a word. He was a mute for as long he could remember.

Son of a notorious pedophile who was not only beaten to death by the locals in their village; but was also was castrated publicly and hung to a tree with the help of few bike chains for public viewing. Making the point that he will become a monster like him, like father like son—he was supposed to be killed, but was saved by his ferocious sister. Well, he cannot recall, the thoughts were gifted by his sister, whom he cared a lot for. And apparently for her, he had murdered and mutilated few peoples too.

But the memory regrettably, was obscured, it might be his imagination. He did not know, he wasn't even aware of the time. It appeared to be night, where was he even to begin with?

His skeletal fingers tapped on the floor board on the bar where he visited for a drink or two. Soon he gestured with his fingers to the bar tender for payment. A kid no less 12 asked for money somehow broke into the little bar. So, he tipped him a good fifty rupees, he wasn't aware where it came from but luckily he had something to give to that poor fellow. Thanking him heartily, the kid moves to the other person—who apparently was not as amiable as him. In his fierce mood of the morning he kicked the poor fellow feet away.

It missed Arjun's perception of sound, but he did wake up from his seat and walked towards the man who seemed like the owner and paid him. And walked straight towards the gate, but feeling a hand on his shoulder he stopped. He saw the exact same man whom he met few days ago berating a woman, and hitting a kid. The man was about 5'9'' slightly shorter than him, and had the swagger of a monarch and temper of a wild boar. He was talking to him.

"Baaki ke tees rupay? Jagaah kya tera Baap ka hai bhootnike, ki joh jee mein aya piyaa aur pure paise die bagair nikal jayega?"

Arjun simply studied the man; he was trying to read the lips but was unable to do so. Instead his eyes fell on a child crying in the middle of the bar, and everyone seemed to ignore him. The kid's clothes were ruggedly worn, and there seem to be blood coming out of his mouth. Feeling sorry and wanting to know who did this to him, he walked towards the kid.

It was the same kid whom he tipped.

Arjun tried to brush the bruises which formed on the head, and a lump was about to grow there. He was able to hush to the child, he was mute but he could still breathe. He never felt physical pain, but emotional he sure did. His sister's angry scold, and sometimes straight-up beating—even though he couldn't feel pain he still could see the anger, and that hurt him. If physical agony was similar to emotional then surely he can understand what the kid must be going through.

So, he took out his purse and gave him another fifty rupees, kissed his head and motioned the poor kid to go out, and the kid went out. He stood up and came face to face with that landlord. Who scowled his anger visible.

"Saale, daru pine ke baad paise nahi the, lekin ek bhikari ko dia toh 100? Laa nikaal paise," he grabbed Arjun's collar and began pushing him backwards.

First, Arjun was confused why this man was becoming violent. The man despite being of short stature carried a lot of strength as he kept pushing him until the back of his head collided with something solid behind him. It struck, he felt the pressure—but pain, none.

"Bhosdike—tune kya socha tujhe aise hi jaane dunga?"

His curious eye fell upon the people who were crowding only as individual observant; no one interfered as he was being bullied. He was slapped, and still no pain. He could hardly hear the angry man, who looked like he was screaming at him.

Reaching behind his head, he touched the back and brought the hand before his eyes to see the blood. Okay, his sister might kill him knowing he got hurt again. He needed to get back to her as soon as possible. That is what she had told him, to come back to her whenever he bled.

But this man was not budging. So Arjun used his left hand to grab a finger of the short man and twisted it hard. The person struggled, opening his mouth wide and leaned side-ways, twisting his own body to ease the pain but it was agonizing still. A knee met the ear of landlord, which knocked him out cold.

Three men came running towards Arjun who looked like goons belonging to the fallen man. They looked like they were here to attack him. Feeling threatened, Arjun grabbed a beer bottle nearby and struck a man in the head. The bottle shattered, but the edges remained. And he perfectly used it to scratch and stab the other men. Someone came from behind and stabbed Arjun from the side. But somehow the wound wasn't deep since Arjun attempted to put his hand before the knife prior as the blade met his stomach. The knife was penetrated his right hand, and got an inch inside the belly.

Not surprised, or feeling any pain, the broken bottle which Arjun held within his left hand met the neck of the man who managed to stab Arjun. He fell down screaming, and holding his bleeding neck. The tall and lean man, Arjun, curiously starred at the fallen men wondering what pain feels like, before making his way out the door. He cut through the wave of terrified people, when he took out the knife which was still in his palms. His blood gushed out from the gash which had already made a hole, he could see. So people were there who fearfully watched the man who couldn't feel any pain throughout the struggle. He didn't uttered a single word neither did paid attention to the kid who was smiling watching him go.

…

The body was already seized, and had been sent for post-mortem followed by a procedure to undergo through their specialized Forensic team since it was a murder. Senior Inspector Daya along with Sub-Inspector Pankaj of C.I.D. reached the crime scene, which had been sealed with a yellow tape. Pankaj took the lead making way for the senior officer; he cut through the wave of crowd who were trying to steal a glimpse at police work, and may probably complain later at Internet for making slow progress. The giant Daya strides faster than he normally does, into the yellow seal. As both entered, the crime scene, they were welcomed by the senior Sub-Inspector of the nearby Police post who shook hands with Daya, and then to his equivalent Pankaj.

"Sub-Inspector Rajvir here, sir." He looked about thirty, and confidently he spoke. Daya nodded, and charged towards the place where the corpse was hung.

"Yeh, kuch pattaa chala. Yahaan kya hua tha?" He asked pointing between the walls, and began verbally assaulting the inspector with questions, "Itni innovative yet somewhat copied khoon hua aur kisiko pata bhi nahi chala? Yeh, night club hai na? Puch tach ki hai aap logo ne unke saath?"

But,the man did not smile, his assurance unwavering, "Ji sir, Deepti Chauhan, iss club ki maalkin hai, ji nahi—humne sub logo se puch tach karli par kisiko nahi maloom yeh sab kaise hua. Jisne photo khichi thi, usko humne puchtach ke liye bulayaa hai. Abhi woh station mein hai, aap chahen toh usse sawaal jawaab kar sakte hai."

While they were conversing, Pankaj looked at the surrounding. Even though the local police had probably checked it, it's always for trust that he should double look at things. Who knows he might get a clue or anything. Wearing his white latex gloves, he walked around the alley. His eyes followed every corner from top to bottom and to every corner. But his gaze lingered on the thick blood on the floor which had been dried—well mostly, it still had traces of gooey substance. The reek of urine on the walls was so overwhelming that he had to use his handkerchief to close his nostril. He stood straight up from his crouching position and looked up.

There were few holes in the walls.

"Yeh sab…" He called out towards the Sub-Inspector who walked towards and saw where Pankaj was pointing at, "Deewar mein…" and he understood.

"Badi kile thoki gayi thi, kaise, yeh maloom nahi. Aur kisine yahaa per kisiko aate hue nahi dekha hai, yahaan tak ki club walo ko bhi iskie bare mein kuch maloom nahi."

"Kya naam kaha aapne malkin ka?" Pankaj asked.

"Deepti Chauhan."

Pankaj kept quiet, and looked at his senior officer to take the lead, but he was longingly looking at the traces of blood. All of Daya's attention fell upon a fragment of white colored filament. He had seen it before, somewhere—elsewhere. Yes, enteral tapes, the passageway for the waste.

His intent gaze made the world disappear around him, as all he could see the piece of filament. Closing his eyes—the noises became louder and he could hear the thumping footsteps, and clicking of heelsalong with the soft murmurs of the bystanders.

"Yeh khoon sochi samjhi thi lekin qaatil chahta tha ki isse log dekhe." He spoke in his usual monotone, "Par, yeh club ko kuch na kuch toh maloom hi hoga, Pankaj—tum jaake mil lo uss aurat se—malkin se puch tach karlo"

"Sir, main…" Clumsy and novice, he was being doubtful of his own abilities. One thing Daya did notice that Pankaj was not acting stupid or idiotic without Freddy's presence; he somehow managed to grace maturity, a young officer who was pretending to be a grown up.

"Haan tum, jao aur puch tach karlo, yeh pura case tumhe hi solve karni hogi, main toh sirf supervising officer hoon. Agar kuch complication nikla toh mujhe bula lena." Making his point, and bluntly stating his thoughts—Daya walked out looking at every faces.

"It's your first time?" Rajvir asked Pankaj still looking at retreating Daya, the giant cop.

"Not really, but haan. Yeh pehli baar hua hi sir ne pura bojh mujh par daal di hai."

"Well, toh phir good luck. Aise cases mein ek senior officer ke bagair kuch bhi ho sakta hai, dhyaan rakhna khud ka. Aur haan, woh malkin thodi sanki type ki hai. Sambhal ke baat karna." Pankaj was offended, he sure was. And the heat from the sun burned his eyes. So, the sunglasses which Pankaj kept on his shirt's breast pocket were retrieved by him. He wore it, and looked at the police officer from head to toe. Smiling arrogantly, he spoke,

"Yahi toh fark hai, tum mein aur mujh mein. C.I.D. aur local police mein. Tum jab aankh band karte ho toh hum seena taan kar khade ho jaate hai." Tapping the Sub-Inspector on the shoulder he walked towards the club's back door which was opened by a guard. Taking a deep breath, he followed suit.

"Chutiya kahinka." Pankaj smiled, when he heard the voice of the fuming officer.

Entering the club from the south side, he was surprised to see no crowd. There was not a single life, not even people who usually drink at this time of the day. His eyes fell upon two men wearing black suits behind the booth where drinks were usually served, and a woman before it, smoking a costly cig, Davidoff. Now, Pankaj was surely a naughty and feisty man, goofy and idiotic he may be, but living a life can only be learned from him. He was jovial, and extrovert— he had lots of friends.

The raven haired woman saw his approach with narrowed eyes. Pankaj was positive that he might get something out from the landlady, maybe from the body guards.

"Hello, behenji." Pankaj spoke out loud, in his usual boyish charm.

"Behenji?" Her voice was high-pitched, not serene or seductive at all. Despite the gorgeous face and voluptuous figure, he was clearly convinced the lady cannot be easily charmed by his boyish appearance. He needed a different way.

"Ah sorry, woh aaj chasma nahi pehni hai na. Sorry, ma'am." The woman shrugged, and took a drag out of the expensive smoke, "Aap yahan ki maalkin hai? Kaafi acha club hai aapka? Aapne ne design ki hogi sayad"

"Kaise paata chala?" She was suddenly intrigued now; as her eyes were completely open observing Pankaj intently.

"Aapke choice ki cigarette, aur who saari saraab aur wines sab high quality ke hain, toh be saq agar woh aapki choice hai toh definitely yeh club ki design bhi aap hi ki hogi." Taking a seat beside her; he ordered a drink cabernet Shiraz for himself, and gestured if he could buy her one, "Aap ke liye? Payment… aap ke yahaan card swipe karti hai?"

She shook her head in denial, "Saayad kuch honge mere paas, par itne nahi hai ki dono drinks ki payment ho jaye."

"Well since you seem like a gentleman, it's on the house, Inspector." She sultrily spoke, and suddenly her voice sounder matured—like a woman with the knowledge of thousand. Inwardly, Pankaj cheered as he somehow broke through the walls of a rumored crazy woman. She further asked taking a good look at him, "Waise aap ki choice bhi kaafi achi hai."

"Well, thank you very much." His drink was prepared by her apparent body guard, who were conversing among themselves, leaving them be the way they were.

"Toh aap puch tach karne aye hai?" she asked leaning back into the bar table, seeing him nod her eyes narrowed once more. But it was not suspicious, now successfully Pankaj made his best game face of not looking suspicious and the woman bought it legit.

"Main C.I.D. se hun." He truthfully confessed, to gain trust further.

"Tabhi main sochu ki aap ko kahin pe dekha hai, NEWS mein kabhi kabhaar aapki jhalak mil hi jaati hai."

"Toh yeh case ab C.I.D. sambhalegi?" He nodded a yes, but his attention was on the drink which was served to him. The guard simply excused and walked back towards his friend.

"Toh phir thik hai, yahaan ki Police itni achi nahi jaise ki darsate hai. Kam se kam woh laash ke bare mein aap kuch kar sakte hai—aur woh bhi jaldi."

"Aapko kuch maloom nahi hogi saayad?"

"Ji, main kal raat ke 12 baje ghar chali gayi thi, agar aap chahen toh CCTV pe aap dekh sakte hai."

"Nahi, mujhe yakeen hai aapki baton pe." He interrupted, "Par aapke jane ke baad, kuch hua tha kya?"

"Ji nahi, mere jane ke baad, Shekhar aur Mukesh—mere do body guards iss jagah ki rakhwali karte hai. Aur 2 baje tak sab ke jane ke baad band karlete hain."

"Woh dono?" Pankaj pointed towards the tall men who were occasionally stealing a glance towards them. The woman nodded and called those men.

"Yes, ma'am?" The bald among the both asked, he was also taller than the other.

"Yahaan pe madam ke jaane ke baad kuch hua tha kya?"

"Ji nahi kuch nahi, back door hamesa closed hi rahta hai. Haan lekin agar kuch maar-pit hoti hai club mein, toh uss door se hume uun logon ko bahar phekna padta hai. Parso hi toh ek ko pheka tha maine"

"Kyun?"

"Ched raha tha ladkiyon ko."

"Acha,"

"Toh tum kitne baje normally club open karte ho?" Pankaj asked, studying the surrounding and stealing glances at the lady next to him.

"Dopahar ko, woh aaj Police Station se call aaya tha toh hume aana pada."

"Toh parso raat ko jab tumne uss aadmi ko pheka tha toh tumne kuch nahi dekha?"

"Nahi sir,"

That is all he needed to see, the weight of answer. The man's resolve was unshakeable, and his face did not show anxiousness, if he had seen something then clearly he couldn't keep it hidden. Nevertheless the bald man, whose name was Shekhar — did look creepy,

'_Must be the beard.'_ Pankaj concluded on his thoughts.

"Aap apna number denge? Agar kuch maloom hoga toh aapko contact zaroor karungi." The woman had other ideas that she wanted to speak about. Pankaj was perfectly aware of her pondering, so he made an escape. She had no idea of the conspiracy, perhaps she just wanted to be friends.

"Ji zaroor, aap bureau ke number pe contact kar sakte hai. Haan par facebook pe aapko friend request zaroor bhej sakta hoon. Agar manjoori mile toh." Hearing this she was slightly disappointed, but looked completely unfazed.

The woman stared him for few seconds before nodding, and then Pankaj took a gamble, "I'm sorry, but what is your name? So I can send a request."

"Deepti Chauhan,"

"Pankaj Nagrath." He offered his hand for a hand-shake, and shook it lightly when the woman returned the gesture. If she understood him then she cannot expect a request from him, not at all. Though he was now assured that this woman needs a different type of approach, more direct and no nonsense. She was a strong woman after-all, and if he sent a request then it will probably display the negative light from him. He did not wanted to look desperate, he wasn't. If she feels like being friends then he could surely pull some strings. "Sorry, but I've to get back to the office."

"_No need to see the footage, the police might already have a copy of it. Daya sir should be there."_

He exactly knew where he should go.

…

Dayanand Shetty had taken a seat as he was watching the Chawkey's Inspector interrogating a young man about 18 intently. Apparently he was said to be the one who took the picture and uploaded it to hs facebook from where it went viral. Sahil Udaynath, his name, was a 1st year engineering student from a well respected college.

His headache was getting worse, as the Inspector seemingly was asking the same question over and over again. And the answer was similar as well,

"Ji maine kaha na aapko, ki main guzaar raha tha wahaan se aur tabhi wahaan se baas ayi, jab dekha toh wahaan pe woh laash mili."

And then Daya had enough of everyone and everything. He got up from his seat and slowly walked towards the student, who had been evading the questions by repeating his answer—clearly. Seeing his monstrous form the young man visibily tensed, much like Daya's teeth grind within his closed mouth. Daya slapped the back of the young man's head, which made the guy quench.

"Hum sabko kya chutiya samajh rakha hai bhootnike? Kab se ek hi baath ki rat lagaye betha hai, sidhe sidhe kehne ki kabiliyat Baap ne nahi sikhai?" Daya was getting angrier by second, and if the kid won't be speaking soon then he might use his fist soon. Perhaps that will open his mouth.

"Yeh.. ye aap aise kaise baat kar sakte hai?" Stammering, the guy was cornered in his little chair when Daya towered over him. Seeing Daya angry, the chief inspector backed off.

"Main kuch bhi kar sakta hun, tere naam ka case bhi khol sakta hoon, bas ek ungli ghumane ki der hai aur tu chori aur blackmail ki case mein andaar jayega. Ghumaun, ungli ghumaun?"

"Aap.. aa… jante nahi main kiska… bb…beta hoon…" The guy glared, but everyone in the post knew Daya had already cornered him—successfully. Hearing this Daya laughed sardonically.

"Tum engineering wale, bakland bhosad chod—samajhte kya ho apne aap ko? Raeez Baap ka aulad hai, maloom hai humein, aur tere baap ka kundli bhi maloom hai. Tu bulaega apne baap ko, aur dono ko saath mein andar daal denge. Toh gandmarna band kar aur bolna suru kar."

The young man just stared, and seeing the ire, he imagined an impending doom commencing upon him, if he didn't speak. Daya pinched the bridge of his nose, and suddenly grabbed the collar and lifted the weightless. Panicked the inspector along with Rajvir who was there went there to disentangle him from the almost victim of police brutality. The yelling and muscling took place, but the younger man couldn't shake off the vice like grip, and neither could the police.

"Bol… bol… bol raha hun, jane do,"And Daya dropped him to the floor, and got back to his chair. Raising his right leg, he placed the right ankle on the left leg's knee, and observed. The headache was worsening.

"Raat ke 1 baje saayad, mera roommate— Vikram ghabrate hue ayaa. Jese ki koi bhut dekh li ho. Woh raat-raat bhar bahar rehta hai, kabhi kabhi room ko hi nahi aata, par iss baar baat alag thi. He was panicked and pale—scarred to his bone. Paseene se nahaye hue, woh pagalo ki baat kar raha tha. Pure ekk ghante lage usse yeh maloom hone mein ki hostel mein hai. Aur jab usne kaha ki usne laash dekhi thi wahaan pe, toh maine…"

"…Toh socha ki chalo chalke dekh lete he, aur photo khich ke internet pe dal dete hai, aur nationwide logon ko panic kar dete hai, nahi? Agar, ekk mare hue insaan ko izzat dena nahi aata toh apne aap ki kaise karoge? Kisi din tumhare parents ki yaa tumhare dost ki aisi tasveer khich ke koi internet pe daal de toh kaise lagega?" Daya scolded, but this time it wasn't threatening but realizing. He further told, "Do minute ke fame ke liye tumne ekk murdered victim ki izzat ki dhajiya udaa di."

"I'm sorry, sir." Disgusted at the young man's confession, the Inspector was about to say something but was interrupted by the C.I.D. officer.

"Usse jane dijiye, Inspector Anurag, haan bas uske saath jaiye aur uss ladke Vikram ko laakar puch tach kijiye. Kuch mile toh inform kar dena." He said and walked out from the Station.

_To Be Continued_

* * *

**A/N:** So, this is it. The first chapter.

I am sincerely happy to read your reviews. But one thing bothered me, so let me clarify the notion. As you reviewers spent your quality time reading all of this, I've to inform you that I'm relatively- a new writer. I've written a total of three stories each belonging to their own category. One, I've already published, The Blacklist. I'm not claiming that my story will be the best, I'm not Anurag Kashyap, I'm not aiming for the best. But I'm attempting a different approach- trying a different style- more edgier style, it's a vision, which I definitely want to see in CID. They kind of avoid writing stories which might take people to a nightmarish place, no I'm not implying the horror special episodes, but something that could make people cringe. The shock factor, the ugly truth that's what I want to see. But we know it might never happen, so I'm writing this fiction. I am writing just for the sake of writing, I don't expect it to be the best, but really, genuinely, I hope the story to be decent enough to read.

I'm just going with the flow, and one thing, I like to write long chapters. And updating this story may take longer, since I've to write other stories too which are yet to be published and one which is in the line waiting to be updated. Oh and my Hindi isn't particularly good, I'm not a native Hindi speaker, so please pardon my Hindi. :P

Once more, I apologize if I hurt anyone's feeling.

Till then, off~


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: _**Back with an update.

Now seriously, I loved your reviews it got me motivated and fired-up to write and publish a chapter as soon as possible—and I managed to neglect my other story. :P

Although, it took me a while to write and since I had no time to tweak minor details there might be few or many errors. Like I promised, I'll gradually increase the ugly factor or perhaps I won't, depending on my mood which is fairly happy all the time, so there might be time when the craziness factor will be avoided. I don't know if you people are enjoying or not but I seriously hope you do, and by your reviews I think I'm doing a fairly good job. So thank you again, I really appreciate your precious reviews.

So, a lot of Out of Character portrayal will be there, since this is an Alternate Universe based story.

Again with the warning, if you get easily offended:**_ Do Not Read This Story_**.

I condemn everything that I've written and will probably write in future. I support no crime, drinking, and smoking or whatsoever.

**Rated: M **or **18+**

**_Disclaimer: _**_Show belongs to Sony TV India and Mr. B.P. Singh._

**WARNING: **Story contains a lot of violence/gore, coarse language, and nudity, mentions of substance abuse, child abuse, molestation, and implied rape, along with smoking and alcohol also contemplation of God factor.

**All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  
**

* * *

**_BLOOD_**

_Chapter 2:_ _Egoism_

Daya met Pankaj on his way out, who immediately removed his sun-glasses out of respect for the senior. But, ignoring him the older man walked straight towards the car. The young man confused and thoughtful of what he should do; simply shrugged and entered the station. He needed a copy of all the footages starting from the club to nearby places, curious to see the night before the murder. Hoping the station had any footage whatsoever from nearby places, he met the chief inspector, Anurag.

Saluting the designated officer, he was offered a seat but he declined. Simply getting straight to the point, he opened his mouth to speak but was distracted seeing the distraught young man. The oddment got the better off his easily perturbing mind, so asked.

"Kaun hai ye, sir?"

"Woh?" The man pointed towards the teenager who was on talking to his phone for some assistance, "ladka jisne woh photo khichi thi."

"Toh kuch kaha usne?" Pankaj asked.

"Nothing worthwhile," The inspector about 40, walked towards his chair and took a seat, "Bacha hai, galti ki hai facebook pe famous ho ne ke liye. Ab CID iske ke piche lag gayi hai, kya karega? Roh raha hai bechara."

His nonchalant jab at C.I.D. greatly offended Pankaj. He exactly knew the officer was displaying his position by stabbing from behind, people like him made Pankaj wonder when he would get a promotion just to silence them; and people like him deserved a punch to the face by him. Pankaj had got the notion crystal clear, and this inspector was not the only one who hated their department. They were proclaimed to steal the local police's glory of solving cases, C.I.D. made people question their ability. The police, they could not digest it. So once in a while, they make some remarks on them, not to the senior officers but to them, the lower rank officer.

"Ab padegi na sir, jab laash ko dekh ke sidhe apko inform kie bagair photo khich ke daal di hai." Said the younger sub-inspector Pankaj, who swallowed the anger, grinning when he saw the rival officer amused stare. Pankaj really meant that the guy should've called them instead, which the officer clearly missed. Proving their intelligence Pankaj kept his stupid smile plastered on his face.

"Toh kya kaam tha? Tumhare senior inspector yahaan pe aake uthal puthal macha di."

Hearing the statement the smile Pankaj held got even wider, "Sir, humare purre dabangg hai."

"Dekha maine, toh muddhe pe ao, kya chahiyetha tumhe?"

"Mujhe woh club ki aur uske aas paas ke jitne bhi camera lage hue hai, sabki footage chahiye." Pankaj foretold with resolve. But the man leaned back, relaxed into his chair.

"Agar nahi di toh?" an attempt to provoke him, Pankaj merely avoided by saying,

"Kuch nahi, case jaldi solve nahi hogi, aur purra blame aapko jayega."

"Woh kaise?" The Inspector leaned forward, placing both his elbows on the table and observed him. It was Pankaj's attempt to offend the officer.

"Aap ek case mein dakhal de rahe hai isliye? You will be delaying an already long procedure." The stare-off continued, between a lower ranked officer and a superior. Now, Pankaj did not fear him, there was nothing to fear of. But he did feared Daya, he did not deserve his wrath if the case takes long enough to crack. He would fail to impress him, fail to build his disintegrating repo, and fail to be known as a good cop. That he does not want to accept, he wanted to prove that he is just as good as the senior officer, he could solve this murder.

The officer stared for a second and spoke, "Tum kehna chahte ho hamare wajaha se case solve nahi hoti?"

"Dekhiye sir, main debate karne nahi ayaa." Pankaj was getting anxious by second under the senior officer gaze, "Daya sir mera baahar intezaar kar rahe hai. Akela hota toh jaroor apke saath chaiye pe charcha karleta, par mujhe nikalna hai. Jaldi kijiye, mere paas waqt bahot kum hai."

"Kyun? Biwi ki delivery hai? Itni jaldi kyun hai tumko?" This man was getting under his nerves, but sealing a rude remark he just simply smiled, and said

"Please sir dijiyena, Uparwala meherban hoga, upri maal bhi milegi aapko uss ladke ke Baap se jamaanat mein, dijiyena—dijiyena, footage ki copies dijiyena." He begged in his annoying pestering voice, which flared an unresolved anger within the Chief Inspector. Pankaj had no shame whatsoever, so he kept begging while getting closer to the officer. And soon he lay under the man's feet and tugged his khaki.

Everyone in the station saw his desperate attempt to get what he desired; some chuckled while others' shook their head, disapproving C.I.D. officials approach. Getting embarrassed the senior officer finally accepted his defeat, and ordered a constable to give the copies of the footage to the man who had no shame, Pankaj.

When he was handed the discs, Pankaj did a celebratory bhangra and ran out the station. Not giving a chance for a rebuttal, he didn't even expect a rebuttal to begin with.

_"Man, I knew my bhangra is good."_ He inwardly complimented his ability dance; he walked straight towards Daya who was waiting for him by their official SUV. But as soon as he was supposed to say something, his senior, Daya's phone rung and it hadn't been changed for ages.

"Haan Tarika?..." Daya acknowledged Pankaj with a nod, and walked towards the driving side still speaking, "Body milgai?... Identified bhi ho gayi? Achi baat hai, hum dono wahaan ah rahe hain."

Ending the call, he stole a glance at the junior officer, who held several discs. "Woh sab kisliye?", he exactly knew why, but he needed to hear the man speak. Nevertheless, he put the vehicle on ignition and began driving towards their forensic office.

"Ji sir, woh malkeen se baat hui thi, usne kaha parso raat ko kisine club mein ched-chad kit hi toh uske bodyguards ne usse bahar phek di thi. Toh footage dekhne ke liye…"

"Malkin ko dekhne ke liye?" He raised an eye-brow, to ease a tension that Pankaj must be thinking to be there.

"Nahi, sir… Kabhi kabhar qaatil ki pehchan chehre se ho jaati hai." Hearing this Daya narrowed his eyes, his face still facing the road where he was cutting through the traffic. When Pankaj saw Daya's expression he suddenly became aware of the opposition or a scold, so he added, "Club ke aas paas ke CCTV footage bhi hai isme sir, kya pataa kuch mil jae?"

"Yaad rakhna Pankaj, ye TV show ya film nahi ki sab kuch zoom karke pataa chal jaega." He took a sharp turn, now everyone in the bureau knew Daya was a reckless driver when he had the wheel. Pankaj managed to hold on to the handle over his head on the left.

"Aap chinta mat kijiye sir, mera ek dost hai jo video edit-vedit karleta hai. Usse clarity nikal ayega. We'll surely identify a suspect." He stated.

"Not we, you. Ye sab tumhe hi solve karni hai. Credit bhi tumhiko lena padega."

"Par sir," But was interrupted by his senior officer's dismissal shrug. Daya was perfectly mindful of Pankaj good nature, and this proved how good he is. No wonder Freddy had hijacked all his work. A sigh escaped his lips, determining not to dwell in Freddy's nonsensical drug induced imaginative adventures, his last thought of the day wondered over his curiosity—to finally understand the nature of murder. Not to mention to finally be aware of the name of the poor victim.

. . . .

Manaswini, AKA Manju have a little brother, Arjun Kesav whom she rather fondly called Golu. Well, she had gifted him the name Arjun after-all—a warrior from the past. Since, her brother was a fighter; he has been fighting a disease called CIPA since he was born. He never felt any pain, a rare disease—as an infant it was very difficult while growing. When she learnt about it she was about 10, and seeing her brother's bleeding mouth while he kept playing with a toy. She was unsettled at-first, when she did not see her brother cry; she realized he had bitten his tongue to the point of bleeding. About 1 and a half year old and he had to learn not to bit his own tongue or any part of his body.

It went extreme; when her abusive step-father decided to keep breaking his teeth till he was able learn himself. So, she became his shadow, protecting him from harming himself unconsciously. Her mother married a man who ultimately killed her in his drunken daze, not even two days after giving birth to Golu. She fed him, made him the man that is now perfect. So pathetic, her step-father—no a vermin, he deserved death after all he had done to her, and her friends in their little town.

But, her brother—so innocent, so naïve does not deserved death; and thus she fled. She fled to her heart's content. The world was ugly, and her scar proved its existence. She taught her brother about the vile creatures, the abomination, and the dwelling animals with two feet called humans.

Countless times, it felt like eternity when her body underwent abuses, but she remained strong—for the sake of her little brother. But eventually, her wounds were healed by the man who married her. He accepted her despite the damage; even he shared the same mentations regarding life, perfect and complete—misanthropes. In their broken self they managed to find love, which was rather complicated to begin with.

Her mentor was an Israeli immigrant, who was settled in Maharashtra—the one who found her, petrified of the world—and her fear of people. He taught her things which she didn't dare to imagine alone with her brother. A home to grow up, books to study—gain knowledge, finally liberated. She developed a penchant to learn sign language, just to converse with her deaf-mute brother, Golu; who did learned and became fluent to express his emotions.

The man taught Arjun to become invincible, by taking care of his body—to be aware of the threat known as humans—proficient in martial arts called Krav Maga. She must confess, and won't deny that she hated mankind along with the false hope people spew every day, the promise that God will eventually punish the man when she told people about her step-father's assaults. But it was not God; it was the people who finally noticed the perverted monster not only exercised heinous crimes on his own daughter but also theirs, so they mutilated him for good. Forgetting the God, whom they preached as a savior, they took action on their own—and it was not God it was them. It was all for good, it was for them, their guilty pleasure, hopeful delight that they had slain a demon.

In a crowd, people lose their minds, and she had experienced the nightmare, when they came to her, to take her innocent brother—to be a sacrificial lamb, to bath in his blood for salvation. Imagining the little soul to become a devil much like his father, he was supposed to be left for dead. She could not let that happen, her brother did not deserved death, he was only 5—he was not even aware what death and crime was. So, she cursed them for a drought, and fled from their little town and came to Mumbai, in hope to find what people called hope.

Hope was similar to or was exactly like God, and for her both never existed.

If God could only do the good, then she learned a person can be God, an existing one too.

The now 75 years old Lazer Ismail Ben-Ezra, used to serve the Israeli military back in the day. And, he visited the colorful India for some spiritual enlightenment—after hearing the nation's wonderful commentaries from his associates back in his country. He was curious man nevertheless, he desired to roam all around the globe, collecting knowledge—picking smallest everything as a token to serve his memory. He expected to settle down somewhere- anywhere but his own conflicted country. He was in India for about 28 years now, as he found love he settled down. A good man he was, as he not only paid for her school but also taught her brothers several physical exercises to resist his mental trauma which often made him violent for no reason.

He did all in the name of God, for a God. But for her, it was humanity, or what was left of it.

Lazer was akin to a father she didn't have, that she believed. Although the man did not get married, but he had a spiritual wife—he was a widow. So, he opened a martial arts institute to teach kids, men and women to defend themselves. Although, she chose not to use her fist—she studied to become a nurse. So, that she can help her brother whenever he got hurt.

And he's been getting in lot of trouble recently.

Her vision found the man whom she was pondering about, her brother now 23 came to her bleeding from his hand. It still unnerved her, seeing him not crying or screaming whenever he got hurt. He was avoiding eye contact, looking elsewhere. She knew he was searching for Lazer, he disciplined him not to enter petty fights, but her brother somehow managed to get fights wherever he went. Goons found him fearless, thinking he was brave to face them, but the truth was—her brother cannot hear danger. So he fought people, unaware the people he had been beating were petty wannabe gangsters.

No matter how many times she threatened, beaten him, he never understood to stay out of trouble.

Her concern grew when she saw the wound, a gap on his right palm, and he was looking pale in comparison to his usual caramel brown skin. Getting right to her professional mothering nature, she tended his wounds. She'll have to talk later about it. While she tended, her vision fell upon another place where he was bleeding from—his head. Unceremonially she massaged to notice the wound was practically closed now, but the skin still felt damp. She'll do something about that later.

Half-an hour later, after stopping the bleeding and closing the wound she sat before him.

Not speaking anything, she allowed him to open his talks through using sign language. She knew he'll try to use both hands but she had to prevent him from using the right hand for now. So, she began the conversation,

/Tu us haath kuch din ke liye use nahi kar sakta, samjha ke nahi?/

He nodded, and she asked, /Yeh sab kaise hua? Ek hi haath se explain kar/

He did not say anything, just kept his head low. But she soon realized what the reason was. He had been drinking, /Peene laga hai tu? Hai na?/

Furious, she hit him with a water bottle which she held. It hit his shoulder; he neither flinched nor evaded her beating. Accepting the bottle hit, and the slap which she followed—he still did not expressed anything.

/Narang ki tarah banana chahta hai? Ha? Uske tarah rapist bannaa hai tujhe?/ Her anger got the better out of her, as she did not realize she had been punching him. His mouth split open, and her barrage stopped seeing the slight bruise along with a little blood. Composing herself, she brought a bottle of alcohol, and solemnly tended him again.

/Kitni paresan hoon tujhe lekar maloom hai? Kab taq aise chalta rahega, tere yeh jhagde? Socha ki tujhe Lazer uncle sudhar denge par tu waise ka waisa hai. Ek gunda!/ She sighed, and sat back into the chair before him. /Tere jiju kitni taqleefe utha te hai maloom hai tujhe? Tere iss gunda gardi ki wajah se unhe koi na koi har roz paresan karta hai, kab sudhrega tu?/

/Jijja ji bhi toh, marte piit-te hai logon ko/ He finally retorted, using his left hand he somehow managed to make a full statement.

/Woh security sambhalte hai, unka kaam hai bigde hue logon ko bahar bhejna, par tu—tu kis kaam ka hai?/ His anger flared, yet he didn't said his inner turmoil. Fearing he might hurt his sister's sentiment he took the barrage of verbal assaults, but he chose to remain silent.

Feeling sorry for her mute brother she walked towards him and stood in-front of him. His head still low—ashamed, angry and perplexed. She gently caressed his curly black hair fondly, to which he reacted by tensing his muscles. He knew it wasn't the pain that was hurting him, but his sister's harsh words. Her temper was well-known amongst the circle consisting of, Lazer, his brother-in-law and him. No one raised their voice against her, fearing they might shatter her already broken soul.

/Ye sab kaise hua?/

/Mujhe, mujhe yaad nahi/ he finally confessed. She narrowed her eyes, perfectly aware of his violent tendency and forgetting the fragments after his explosive temper.

/Kyun? Hulk hai tu?/ she attempted to loosen up the tension that was building between both of them. For some unknown reason, she was getting the idea that her brother was going wayward with his blackout problems. She felt he did not trust her anymore, with all the secrecy he held—it might be his only explanation,

/Sach mein, mujhe kuch yaad nahi/

/Tujhpe kisine chaaku se hamla kiya hai, aur tujhe maloom bhi nahi? Kaise yakeen karu tere baat par, Golu, kaise?/ , hearing about the attack his eyes widened in realization; he had stabbed a man in the neck. Desperately seeking his conscience to compose himself before his sister, but failing miserably as she picked up his stress.

/Kya kiya tune? Bol kya kiya?/ she knelt down before him, trying to see his eyes while he tried more-and-more to not face her. He needed to lie.

/Maine… maine, uspe vaapas hamla kiya./ But failed haplessly.

/Kya kiya tumne?/ She spoke softly, composing her inward temper.

/Uske gale pe vaar kiya./

At that she became quiet, and wondered what she should feel like. Part of her was angry hearing about his violent tendency, and another part of her was glad her brother retaliated back to whomever that was. But her days of assault got the better of her when she said,

/Acha kiya./

. . . .

Reaching the forensic office, Daya was greeted by the junior doctors, while most of them ignored Pankaj, who neither cared nor paid attention to those nuisances. Daya's long and fast strides were difficult to follow for a short man like him. He was about five feet behind him, when Daya broke into the chamber where normally Salunkhe and his assistance usually speak with the dead.

But, he got a surprise. Seeing Tarika was all alone, expecting to see Salunkhe probably sleeping near a body he looked around, and so did his companion who finally entered the room.

"Tarika ji, kya baat hai aaj Salunkhe sir dikhai nahi de rahe hai?" He asked in his overly cheerful tone, which no matter what Daya found annoying, but he remained quiet.

Hearing the familiar voice she turned around and faced them, smiling wide—she greeted them warmly, "Hello Pankaj, aaj Sir gaye hai kisi medical college mein seminar dene keliye."

"Toh Sir ki aaj…" He was interrupted when he saw Daya greeting his teeth, means his temper was overcoming his usual calm face. He cowered behind him.

Tarika certainly knew Daya's famous temper, but he never acted this way towards someone like Pankaj or Freddy. He usually was ignorant of their stupidity, but today he seemed different. He was at her home the day before yesterday along with Abhijeet, for a movie. Truthfully, she did not expect him to show up. Not that she cared about his and Abhijeet's friendly endeavor, but she would rather enjoy if Abhijeet was there alone, and not with his friend. She did not held grudge, but lately Daya had been a buzz kill in their secret relationship, being the third wheel he was following them like a hawk. And it was rather unnerving, she did not like it, well, she did not like Daya to begin with—truthfully confessing. But he was a senior officer, so she needed to put on a smile—hopefully, he won't notice the fakeness behind her smile.

Unknown to the fact, that Daya had perfectly acknowledged her little secret hatred towards him.

"Straight to the point, so much like you, Daya." The sarcasm was visible to him, so he faked his own smile without speaking anything.

"Iska naam, Govind Nagarajan hai. Tumhe yeh jaan kar hairani hogi, ki yeh wanted tha sex trafficking ke liye."

"Kya?,"

"Yes, mujhe bhi shock laga, yeh Tamil Nadu se ladkiyon ki dalaali karta tha India ke baahar. Wahaan ke police se puch tach ki toh pataa chala iske bare mein. Tumhe bataa du, iske paas koi bhi identification proof nahi hai, bas criminal database pe search kiya toh pata chala. Abhi yeh kaise desh ke baahar ladkiyan bheja karta tha ye maloom nahi." Her eyebrows furrowed, disgusted at the man whom she dissected for any traces of cause.

"Woh maloom karna, police ka kaam hai," Daya sullenly spoke which greatly offended her.

Hearing the information Daya sighed dejectedly, the crime rate was nowhere getting extinct yet it is increasing every year. A murder of a criminal, and he had no idea how to feel, "Apne inform kardiya sir ko?" A murder was a murder, an offence, which the law rightfully criticized, does a criminal being murdered unlawfully make people feel good about themselves?

"Ji, Abhijeet sir pataa lagane gaye hai," She answered.

"Woh jo kiile ville thi, usme se finger prints ya phir DNA kuch mila?"

"Haan, par database se kuch pataa nahi chalaa."

He never understood, he dared not to go through his narrow-minded nature—fearing he might find something inside him. A police officer should not get drown in their own feeling, he was not the law—it was the law that made him what he was—senior Inspector Daya not the other way around.

Did he pity the man who was dead? He did, when he did not know about his crimes, but after he was aware of the things he had done to those poor girls, he was rather, disturbingly—indifferent.

Shoving both his hands in his jeans, he felt the pack of cigarette on his right pocket which he desperately needed to throw out, or smoke out.

"Aur kuch pataa chala, ye, iski maut kaise hui?" He stood near the body observing the sewn eyes, and the sealed lips.

"Obviously, kisi dhaar-daar cheez se, aur haan, iske blood mein se heroin ki traces mili hai. Mere hisaab se, iske marne se pehle isne sab kuch dekha tha, par hosh kho chukka tha." Tarika walked towards another dead whom had nothing to do with this case, it was a simple murder—with poison.

"He saw his own death," Pankaj who was silent all this time, finally spoke. Unlike Daya, he was glad that this man died a terrible death. Blinding rage builds a structure in his subconscious mind, and soon he found himself inside his head. Although, he was unable to see his own form, but he imagined Nagarajan grinning towards him, hung to the hook, stripped from his skin, eyes lashes sewn to the brow, but his mouth was left open to grin. Grimacing, Pankaj raised his gun totting hand towards the Nagarajan, or what was left of him, and shot a bullet which exploded his very head.

He didn't realize that Tarika was talking to him,"Kahaan kho gaye? Tumhara phone kab se baj raha hai."

Excusing himself, he brought out his phone and rejected the offensive machine.

"Heroin?" Daya's voice broke the countenant atmosphere, but it was a question to him rather not for others. He thought out loud, wondering about illegal substance which was still available despite secure connection of law officers.

_'Sab kuch chalta hai yahaan; Mera Bhaarat mahaan.'_ Ruefully he thought— sarcasm laced.

"Inject ki gayi thi, aur woh bhi overdosed. Jiski vajaha se iski khoon ki dhaar moti ho gayithi… he felt no pain while he died an agonizing death." Tarika's eye narrowed, imagining the horrible anguish the man could've felt. But undaunted at her own finality, she accepted that this man died rightfully. She cannot even comprehend what those girls would be going through, when they were sold to an unknown fate by this man.

Guilt ridden, Daya was verbally abusing his own conscience, which was supporting the unlawful death the man that died an atrocious. His dilemma was he could not decide if he accepted or neglected his own verdict, and this made him even angrier. Also the fact that he goaded a teenager of disrespecting this animal made things even more complicated; it did not made him feel any better. Silent, and foreboding his wrath feeded up more fuel yet he somehow managed to compose himself, not needing the surge to break things.

"Duniya se ek bojh toh kam hua," Pankaj spoke out loud, but tensed when he saw Daya's narrowed eyes. Unware of the conflict the senior officer was heeding to. Nevertheless, Daya chose to ignore him.

"Aisa ho sakta hai ki qaatil isse dard dena nahi chahta tha?" When he heard himself saying this Daya felt even more disgusted,

And his headache worsened ten-fold.

But then, a familiar voice echoed in the hallway,

"Kya? Salunkhe saab aaj chutti pe? Mazaa agaya bhai." over-joyed, Abhijeet, a grown-ass man.

Tarika's eye lit up hearing it, while Daya grimaced to the source. A palpable hostility had arisen between them ever since Abhijeet told him about Tarika's displeasure of him hanging out with them. Although, he chose to not speak his mind out, he did contemplated when he got home. The feeling, the urge to lash out at his best-friend went buried deep within the darkest place of his heart.

The man entered joyfully, but got faltered mid-way when he saw his best-friend's towering form. Pankaj grinned boyishly, seeing the jovial sharp-shooter of an officer. He always enjoyed the company of Abhijeet more than the counter-part, contrasting Daya who never talked much; and for an extrovert person like him, Pankaj found Daya's personality rather bland.

Daya was more secretive amongst the whole C.I.D. personnels.

"Arrey dost tum yahaan? Kuch pataa chalaa iske baare mein?" He asked, desperately seeking his eyes which looked disinterested staying here. When Abhijeet told him that he was not expected, he went into a guilt trip. It was no way to tell a friend right to his face, but as a straight-forward man—he did not expect the thing to be hidden inside. Since then, Daya somewhat remained out of the picture. He locked himself in the house, didn't pick up calls like he normally did.

Abhijeet was concerned, when ACP told him that Daya's temper was beyond bad today—he wondered if his talk with him made him what he was today. Sincerely dismissing the thought he shrugged the feeling that their friendship was in a thin sheet of foil which can break if not seen.

Taking a deep breath, Daya exhaled the bitterness which was formed by his tongue—he took another breath, "Sirf naam, aur kaam. Tumhe kuch pataa chala?"

Tarika interjected, "Woh maine unhe bataa di thi ki aap iske bare mein puch tach karne gaye the."

"Toh kuch pataa chala, Abhijeet?" Daya asked again, and this time he looked at face unreadable, and emotions cold as Neptune. His hidden disdain towards Abhijeet's secrecy was laced in his speech pattern which none picked up.

"Haan, ye deal samandar ke beech mein karta tha, jis ship ko yeh use karta tha use jabbt kar liya gayaa hai. Baaki sab dhir dhire pataa lagega, iske network ke bare mein." He stood before the dead body, opposite to where Daya stood—and they were face to face. The hostility was one-sided, and Pankaj realized it when he saw Daya massaging his forehead, brows furrowed—and his worry lines visible.

"Tum thik toh ho?"

"Bilkul bhai, mujhe kya hoga?" Daya replied with a false smile, staring few seconds towards his best-friend, the sharp-shooting officer turned his attention towards Tarika with a mischief glint in his eyes.

"Tarika ji," He said her name exaggerating with a drawl, "Aaj toh aap kamaal lag rahi hai,"

She dipped her head, shyly—she spoke, "Touché,"

Daya had enough of their secrecy, now he dreadfully wanted to express his mind and not bury his inner most disgust at their public display of affection. On the contrary, he did not wish to hurt this new couple which was failing to keep everything a secret.

"Aap log lage rahiye main chalaa kuch kaam-vaam karne," The words went out unexpectedly, and the smile which both of them wore disappeared. Abhijeet silent frown was enough for Pankaj to make his way out of the room. No choice was left for Daya, who remained where he was, so as to explain—to give a valid reason behind his mockery.

"Kya kehna chahte ho, Daya?" Daya's best-friend challenged him, "Hum log kuch kaam nahi karte?"

Now Abhijeet was a short-tempered man, much similar to Daya—and the only thing that they didn't share was their way to express. Abhijeet was very much good with words, whilst Daya was not. Both were Alpha and both had their fair experiences of trouble but conflict they shared none.

But this time, it seems everything was changing.

Tarika grimaced at the tone Daya used, disliking the man more and more regardless she chose to remain quiet and let the man defend themselves. Demoralized all of a sudden Daya sighed; knowing his little contempt towards them was out.

"Tum kya jatana chahte ho ye sab karke?"

"Kya karke?" Abhijeet was getting anxious, he knew what Daya wanted to say but he needed to hear it from his mouth. But, Daya had other plan—he wanted to avoid a fight, and so he wanted to get out. His gaze fell upon a wall clock, which gave him a way to escape. It was around 2 o'clock in the after-noon and he suddenly was hungry.

"Baad mein baat karenge, abhi mujhe nikalna hai lunch ke liye." He was turned his heel towards the door, but heard Abhijeet speak automatically,

"Chalo mein bhi chalta hoon."

Guess there will be a conflict, and it cannot be avoided. Seeing Daya walking out of the room, Abhijeet sought Tarika's eyes who did not return his gaze.

Daya stormed out of the room in his usual fast strides, and his long legs took him much farther. By the time Abhijeet got to him, he was already at the exit gate. Daya wore his sun-glasses to hide his expression much better, and wore his mask of indifference to face his counter-part, his brother in the past.

"Arrey yaar, thode dheeme chala karo, hum log tumhari tarah 6 foot 4 inch ke nahi hai," He still tried to lighten up his mood.

"Main 6 foot 2 ka hun,"

"Jo bhi ho, ho toh 6 foot ke upar hi na?" He then got quiet only to add, "Yahaan paas hi mein ek dhaaba hai bahut badhiya khana banaa ta hai, chalo kuch kha lete hai. Khate-khate kuch baatein bhi ho…"

"—mujhe bhook nahi hai," Daya stared towards the car, where Pankaj was talking to Nikhil who was surprisingly there. Perhaps he accompanied Abhijeet.

"Toh kya baat hai? Itne ruthe hue kyun ho?"

"Rutha? Main kya chota bacha hoon?" Daya glared through his sun-glasses, his temper was getting a rise.

Abhijeet felt the heat of his Daya's angry, and goaded, "Aur nahi toh kya? Agar kuch kehna hai toh muh par bolo na? Adhi baat karke nikal aye, agar kuch problem hai, mujhse koi bhool hui hai toh mere muh par bolo. Aise pett pe chupane se bhook nahi hogi."

"Ab tum mujhe sikhaoge kya karna hai aur kya nahi?" Daya's violent ire began to surface on his face, and the marks were visible. The grimacing layer and the intimidating aura he possessed surrounded him.

Abhijeet frowned, "Haan, agar tum mein kehne ki kabiliyat nahi hai, toh sikhana hi padega na mujhe."

"Tum sikhaoge? Ab kya khana, piina, gand dhona sab tumse phir se sikhna padega? Tumhe kya mein 8 mahine ka bacha dikhayi deta hun?," It was not the first time Abhijeet had heard Daya curse, but he usually used those terms on perpetrators not to a friendly. Hearing Daya's voice increase, people who were scattered, stopped and their curious gazes fell upon them. But Daya was not done, he had a lot more 'talk', "Aur kabiliyat ke baare mein tum na hi kaho toh behtar hoga, Abhijeet, main 43 ka ho chukka hun—aur professionally tumse jyada experienced bhi. Agar main kuch kehna na chanhu toh kyu apna muh kholun?"

"Arey yaar tumhari problem kya hai? Itna bhadak kyun rahe ho?" Very slowly Abhijeet's temper was also surfacing, but he was trying to compose himself—trying too hard not to lash out at his friend. Daya kept sizing him up, his towering form hovered over him; And Abhijeet found himself disappearing underneath Daya's scorn.

"Abhi toh tumne kahaa jo bhi mere pett mein hai sab nikaal du, toh suno—mere kabil dost, mujhe tumhara attitude pasand nahi. Mujhe tumhari baat karne ka tareeka pasand nahi, tumhara arrogance pasand nahi, tumhara yeh flaunt karna ki Tarika tumhe pasand karti hai woh bhi pasand nahi. Tumhara yeh jataana ki maine tumse kuch udhaar liya hai kuch liye bagair woh pasand nahi. Abhijeet, mujhe tum pasand nahi. Ho gaya? Problem sun li? Toh ab solution bhi dedo, kyun ki lagta hai woh bhi tumhi ko maloom hai. Hum sab to aise hi faltu mein police officer hai, nahi?"

Pankaj and Nikhil stared wide eyed towards the source hearing both the senior Inspectors verbal exchanges, both their eyes were wide with astonishment, Daya had gone severe changes within few days that he knew; drastic, he had no idea. Everyone stared, towards Abhijeet waiting for a response who was giving in to his temper.

"Main kya koi cheez hoon jo tumhe pasand aun? Main tumhe pasand nahi, woh tumhari problem hai, aur maine kab kahaa ki tumhe kuch nahi aata? Ab Tarika ko kyun beech mein ghasit raha hai? Teri problem mujhse hai toh mujhe bol na?"

"Tujhe hi bol rahaa hoon. Tarika bhi ek problem hi hai ussi se hi toh suru hua hai ye sab "dost", na tumhe koi jaroorat thi muhje bataane ki woh kya mere baare mein sochti hai aur na tumhe ye sab sunna padta."

"Daya!" Abhijeet raised his hand to hit the tall man, but stopped mid-way staring into his own reflection due to the sun-glasses. Daya removed those glasses, and his sharp angry eyes perforated Abhijeet's own rage filled brown eyes.

"Tune jo kuch bhi bola mere bare main, maine sab kuch sahaa, par tujhe Tarika ko beech main lane ki koi jaroorat thi," His voice dangerously low, Abhijeet spoke through his greeted teeth. "Agar tum akele ho isme meri ya phir Tarika ki kya galati hai? Dusro ki zindagi mein taang mat adayaa karo Daya, tumhe woh sab sobha nahi deta."

Daya's own teeth grinding was visible even in the afternoon's shadow. And both stared angrily at each other for few minutes, but was interrupted when Pankaj who chose to be the negotiant. But his junior rank made him have second thoughts, so he tried another approach,

"Sir, maine apne dost ko inform kar diya hai abhi ye CDs bas uske pas drop karni hai."

Hearing Pankaj speak Daya still held Abhijeet's rage filled gaze with his own, not wanting to back out. But he had to give a response, so he told, "Toh phir chalo, yahaan rahne se toh acha hai kuch case ke baare mein pataa kare, yahaa ake humara time waste ho gaya. Saala ek toh case ka jhanjhat aur yahaan ake inn dono ki faltu ki romantic baatein suno." Although, it was he was talking to himself. Then he wore his sunglasses.

Daya turned sideways and made his way down the stairs followed by Pankaj, while Nikhill chose to maintain his distance from his idol, Dayanand Shetty. His face expressed no remorse at his rant towards his best-friend, or cared about the silent surprised regards from the officials working there. Abhijeet vision followed a friend who had turned his back against him—or that was what he felt like, betrayal. He was still fuming with wrathful disdain when he turned around only to come face-to-face with Tarika who shook her head low in spirit.

Daya was partly right; they weren't supposed to display their hidden affection with their slight flirtation in-front of their junior ranked officers or seniors; not in the office per se. All those time he butterflied around the nectar source, Tarika, who got him subconsciously concerned and for which he acted like some sort lovelorn school kid who was newly in love with the prettiest girl when she finally noticed him. As a man he was supposed to tone down his immaturity, if there was any. His affectionate display not only interfered both of them professionally but also it affected their personal moments. Tarika often told him that they shouldn't flirt before their superiors but it was him who joked out loud, dismissing it to be whimsical opinion. He was a senior Inspector, he was not a child, he was a man; oh boy was he so wrong?

Daya was right.

He neglected his boundaries; he was supposesed to be just as professional as a senior Inspector should have been. Has he ever seen Daya acting like him when Niyati was interested in him? No, Daya, remained quiet—he did not acted like a love sick school boy when a woman implied that she was interested in him. Daya was ever a man not a boy, professional, yes, when he was on-duty; he always had his guard on and was extremely resistant to a woman's charms. While, he on the other hand, was total opposite.

Abhijeet Srivastav did learn a lesson today; the lesson, ergo Daya was not necessarily what everyone considered him to be, shy—obviously, short-tempered—absolutely, but ignorant and tolerant—not. 16 years of friendship and he still managed to surprise the sharp-shooter greatly.

Perhaps, he should apologize.

_No._

. . . .

Daya found his-self unashamedly guilty but also, he felt rather good after speaking out loud. He did not need to dwell and roll on his muddy—buried feeling of torment due to loneliness, and disdain towards his best-friends love life. His final decision to confront his friend about the unabashed flirtation towards the lovely lady in-front of everyone ultimately reckoned his inner most disgust. So, he lashed out and now he somewhat felt liable that he hurt his friend enough to create the abiity to think before speaking. Abhijeet was his best-friend, a brother from another mother—perhaps brothers do share conflict everynow and then—perhaps now their bond would be better or worst. If worst, then nothing can be done.

Pankaj was still silent when Daya stopped the car, and turned side-ways to look at him.

"Tum gaadi chalao, mujhe smoke karna hai."

"Ji sir," Pankaj was not surprised when he saw a pack of Gold Flake ascending from the senior's pocket along with a lighter. Daya opened the door to get to the other side, while Pankaj scooted towards the driver's seat.

Pankaj was aware of Daya's distress, he might not express but the anxiety was visible on his exhausted eyes. While Daya scooted into the passanger's seat he already had the fire on the cigarette. Longingly he looked out towards the sea.

"Abhi 3 baj chukke hai, aur mujhe maloom hai ki tumne apne dost se abhitak baat bhi nahi ki hai." Pankaj silently drove through the road, starring before trying to avoid idiotic people who always jumped before a car every now and then.

"Ji nahi sir phone karne ki zaroorat nahi thi, abhi hum uske paas hi jaa rahe hai." He spoke truthfully, implying he did not wished for both officers to go after each other's throat. Though he knew if they ever go, then who the victor may be.

"Humari aisi nobat nahi ayi thi ki hum ek dusre ke jaan ke piche pad jate," Daya perfectly guessed what the young man was thinking about. Hell, everyone in the bureau would be informed by now that two best-friends shared some harsh words against each other—and it was not friendly.

Daya further spoke, "Tum isse kya conclude karte ho, mujhe maloom nahi, aur mujhe jaanna bhi nahi hai, par yeh jaanlo Pankaj ki jab duty pe ho, office ke andar flirt-vlirt mat karna."

Pankaj had the rebuttal right under his sleeve—or throat, but he feared he might create another spark and the man might explode while he drove, so he chose to remain silent. He desperately wanted to defend his most favored senior officer.

"Got it sir" he exclaimed in his usual overly cheerful manner.

Daya's thought hovered over ACP Pradyuman who might lecture him about his anger issues. Although the old man had no problem if he exploited his wrath upon criminals, but using that anger against a fellow officer was unacceptable for him. He knew Nikhil must've circulated the NEWS or Tarika who he saw hiding behind some official listening to their exchanges. He did not cared if he turned out to be a villain, if making a grown man understand that he had been doing nothing worthwhile then so be it. A villain can also be good if he wanted.

For now the tag of being bad is imprinted on his forehead, and he expected a rant from ACP, so he was mentally preparing for the worst by smoking.

They reached Pankaj's friends house, the young man got out of the car and entered the home, while he chose to remain in the car. He was at his fourth cig; although smoking at public places was prohibited no one dared to face a stranger like him.

"Abey yaar, tu karde na... case solve hone ke baad tujhe payment de dunga, haan agar kuch paya toh be jijhak bataa dena, mujhe na sahi lekin mere sir ko. Agar kisi aur ko pehle inform kiya toh sir tera arthi utha denge samjha?" Pankaj was talking to a friend, a school buddy—who apperntly edited videos on his free time, Nirvay Karthik who had a thing or two for youtube as he spent most of his free time editing and uploading videos on the inter web. Although, he must confess this friend was not his favorite amongst the bunch.

"Teri police wala gunda gardi apne paas rakh saale, isse pehle bhi tune yahi keh kar kaam karvaya par payment nahi di." The taller than him friend replied, frustrated.

"Arrey yaar woh baat alag thi, lekin ye toh case ke keliye. Agar yakeen nahi toh baahar sir car mein baithe hai, tu jakke puch le ghonchu. Tune toh dekhi hi hogi woh tasveer jisme ek aadmi latka hua hai?"

Nirvay was now intrigued, "Bolta ja…"

"Arey ussi club ka footage hai isme,aur aas paas ke ilake ki. Raat ko toh itni clarity nahi hogi, tu kuch kar sakta hai toh karke dekh na."

"Mera payment?"

"De dunga bey, tu jaldi kuch kar,aur jitni jaldi ho sake mujhe inform kar."

"Thik hai bhai."

"Aur tujhe ek baar phir warn kar deta hoon. Sir ka khopdi khiska toh tere pichwaade mein bam phuta… samjhaa ke nahi?"

"Samjha bey bhootnike, ab jaa yahaan se aur mujhe apna kaam karne de."

Pankaj fondly kicked the tall and fatter guy who was lying on his bed, and ran out of the house. When he saw Daya he slowed his movements. The senior officer was rubbing his forehead drearily, as if an abysmal entity was forging its way into his very heart, marking him—shaping him into a complete different man. His exchanges with Abhijeet made Pankaj realize the change he had underwent. The fury he unleashed and the sharp tongue he managed to invoke greatly surprised the bystanders.

Oh boy, it was for certain Pankaj was surely in trouble, if Daya kept this pissed off mood then there will commence a time when he will probably get a good 'ol ass-whooping. So, he concluded that sub-inspector Pankaj should keep his stupidity in check till his superior turn back to his old self.

He unfeignedly hoped so.

. . . .

_8:34 P.M._

Daya returned back to his home driving his usual Royal Enfield at an unusual time. Despite the uneventful day he was greatly astonished by the level of maturity Pankaj maintained after the forensic ordeal. Not once the young man tried to bring up the subject let alone imply it in their short-trip doing investigation.

His thoughts flicked some seemingly unanswerable question, about his morality? Did he really felt sorry for the criminal who was a victim to a violent crime? As a human to human, how did the murderer even consider mutilating a man and decided to suspend the lifeless body for exhibition? Did his conscience ordained him to? It was overkill, the sewn eyes, and lips… the skinlessness, and the fibery cords from his gut. The exertion was overwhelming to kill a man, but the killer somehow decorated the body for a presentation. Was it the killer's guilty ethics ordered him to drown the man in heroin before slowly taking his life?

Pain

The questions looked simple but the answers were fathomless. A public servant Daya may be, but he never considered killing a criminal. Encounter episodes in his life were a quite few, and in those he never shot a man to death. Although, he had taken a bullet or two, he cannot even consider taking a life. Only the law and God could, a man was supposed to follow the law not become the law, a man was supposed to follow God and not become a God.

Perhaps the killer considered himself a God, a punisher of some sort.

He parked his monstrous bike in his garage which also had a SUV vehicle. Killing the engine he got off the bike and got out of the garage. Making sure he locked the room, he made his way towards his house.

Daya had this little doubt, the benefit—reckoning and holding the idea that the killer may possess the idea of guilt, although he murdered a man cold blood—overdosing him beforehand. What possibily was going on the killer's head?

If only he knew how to get inside a killer's psyche. However, he was forever a cop not a killer he shouldn't even consider thinking like a killer.

Unlocking the door, he entered the large hall room, checking everything was intact he dropped his key and helmet side-by-side. Exhaling loudly, completely exhausted he went straight to his washroom to get cleaned up from the dirt and grime. He washed his face with the running water and finally noticed the reddened eyes and the slight wrinkles near the edges of his eyes; and the greyness of beard made him look old. Well, he was getting old.

Old, the mirror before him spoke the truth.

Shaking his head, he saw himself again on the mirror.

If there was a dark side, can he see him within? If the humanity he contained was good, then there must be bad somewhere deep inside… everyone had. What does he look like then?

_'Tumhari tarah.'_ He reasoned in his thoughts, dismissed the incentive.

Then how does the killer see himself? An unsung hero perhaps in his own, he did saved many unknown girls from that animal. Daya desperately wanted to do something about those poor victims whom Nagarajan chose to be a slave to someone. But he was beyond reach, although if they somehow found the network then surely they'll free those innocent girls. How many lives did he destroy?

Numerous.

Now, Daya wanted to kill Nagarajan himself.

So, is this how the killer felt?

What if the killer was not aware of Nagarajan's heinous crimes? Then that would make everything complicated for Daya. That is when the senior inspector needs to consider him a murderer not a hero. But he liberated many innocent lives.

_'You're a police inspector Daya,'_

He intently looked forward, towards his own reflection. The water glistered his eyes which were still red—bloodshot. Closing his eyes he consoled his own heart which was rampaging for some reason. Few breaths later he imagined the place where the killer stood watching the lifeless body of Nagarajan. As if admiring the ministration as he underwent a passageway of his own consciousness. A shot of heroin far greater than normal—also the time. The tiny ministration of penetration involving the bike chains strategically hung between the walls. Perhaps his lips were sewn first, and later his eyes—the killer might've spoken something.

What would it be?

The control he held on his consciousness got lost as imagined the innards to be pulled out, the bile reached his throat and he lost it. Hovering over the sink he lost whatever his stomach held into the sink. The clenching turned more violent as he threw up some more, and the grip he had over edges tightened. Few seconds later Daya was done, somewhat lightheaded and mentally disturbed to some level, he raised his head towards the mirror.

Finally he grasped reality, and it was his loneliness which jerked his conscience back. No presence of solace, but silence that is what he found—and it was deathlike. He only had one person who he relied on in times like this, his friend Abhijeet whom he rather rudely dismissed just because of his love life.

And when realization hit him he founded himself miserable

_You envy him, Daya._ A little voice found the reasoning, and this time he did not ignore it.

Feeling the urge to apologize he picked up his phone but decided against it. Why should he apologize when whatever he spewed was nothing but the truth? Was it? He spoke what he felt and the honesty should make him feel better which did, but the underlying ill-mannered primitive path he took, perhaps that's what made him this miserable. Maybe this feeling will leave by tomorrow.

Yes, it should be. It better be.

. . . .

Fantasies can be very pleasant when it needed to be, although it can be dangerous if it was supposed to be. Nightmare for some people can be entertaining, those who choose it so. The aspect of adrenaline, the rush and the rioting blood vessel along with few snorts of cocaine later will surely change a dull person to a hyper-everything one. The massive battery of a body will run its course as long as the substance which runs along with the blood. The energy, the excitement, senses everything will be heightened.

Man is perfectly capable of creating a heaven, and to balance there needs to be a hell, a nightmare.

And when a person had been wondering about killing every second of its life, what must he do? A hammer on his hand—before him a bludgeoned body laid in its morbid glory. Squinting, and widening the eyes to get a clear view, to comprehend what a man could do. The blood, it was a handiwork, a craft—modern art that's what some people say. It was his handiwork, innovative it may not be, but a man could always try and try better next time.

Karma has finally arrived, and it can bite a person in the ass.

_To Be Continued._

* * *

**_A/N:_** So, this is it, the second chapter.I must confess every time I update a chapter, I'm so anxious and nervous and negative that I don't think I can add another one. But your views proves me wrong ;) :P

I seriously hope you all like it so far, err… I mean the story, not the content :P

I know you must be wondering why Daya suddenly lashed out at his best-friends which seem nearly impossible or some sort. But I've observed few people, when a friend flaunts his girlfriend like she is some trophy that his single-friend doesn't have then there will be conflict. I'm not saying Abhijeet is flaunting, but different people different opinions and views isn't it? And the closer the friend is the more conflict will surface unless the issue is confronted. But don't worry friendship can be mended… or can it? ;) :P

How did I get through all those stuffs I wrote that I don't know about? Well, thanks to few death metals, doom metals, black and melodic death metals along with some gloomy ambience music, if it wasn't for those bands I don't think I can even finish a chapter.

Again, I apologize if I hurt anyone's sentiments. It is not my intention to.

I'll be back with another chapter.

Till then off~

Oh and yeah, your request to add Shreya and Daya moments, I think I can do something about that but probably later or on the next chapter. But don't expect too much on the romance part, considering Daya's bad mood, I don't think there can be anything between them. But I'll try, and the outcome might be completely different.

See ya~


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: _**Okay, I'm finally back with another chapter. I apologize for the exhausting time I took to upload this. My days have been quite uneventful starting from zero motivation, sluggish flow, unavailability of ideas but despite all that I managed to write and finish this chapter after a month I guess. I, somehow found an ominous flow about three days ago, as I began writing; then I noticed I had written about 5K within those three auspicious days, I am super satisfied with the result, and I certainly hope that you do find it satisfying as well. After-all I write for the sake for writing for you all.

So, I'll skip with the warning since last two chapters had enough of that :P

**Rated: T **or **15+**

**_Disclaimer: _**_Show belongs to Sony TV India and Mr. B.P. Singh._

**WARNING: **Contains coarse language, gore and dead body, mentions of drug abuse, smoking and drinking.

**All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**

* * *

**_BLOOD_**

_Chapter 3: __Demon _

_Sunday: 7:23 A.M._

Every morning was tiring for the twenty-seven year old Pankaj, who always took half-an-hour to get out of the bed. First he wakes up only to doze for few mintues then he slumps back only to be woken up and repeat the process till it reaches 8 o'clock from 7:30. But, this day was different. His boss has given a job to do, a case he had to solve—and he had this hunch, saying him that more severe things will happen hereafter.

Dragging himself sluggishly he entered his bathroom to tend to his things. Unlike the other days he didn't visit Freddy's home like normally did after ending his office hour, he went straight to his bed and fell asleep, completely exhausted to the bone. Never had he done this much field work, never had he been pushed around. Daya was ruthless in his methods; his lectures not only held cynical reasoning and cryptic understanding of crime but the older man shared his underlying philosophical views on being a cop. As a cop Pankaj was supposed to remain neutral to either party, only the evidences was supposed to let them work, without those they cannot function.

So much different from his usual senior partner Fredricks who was a complete goof, and laid back and who surprisingly was his neighbor. His wife whom he called Bhabi Ji was rather fond of him. She always invited him to their home for dinner when both of them arrived home. Since he lived alone, they were his only company when his friends were particularly not available, and he liked to spend time with them. They married young, and it was love… both were 25 when they tied the knot. They had kids as well, a nineteen year old daughter with a younger brother; he must confess those were the few kids who he could not connect with. They did not like him.

While he shat he always pondered what he would do today. A Sunday it was, but it was no holiday for them. He showered, played some electronic music while cooking his breakfast and getting ready for more field work.

He wore a lavender full sleeved shirt and his usual jeans, which he found rather difficult to get into. Inhaling a deep breath he finally managed to hook the buttons closed, by that time he was already out breath. Making sure the jeans were stretchable he put on his shoes, got his motorbike key and his helmet he got out of his house.

While he drove around the block he saw his senior partner's home, it was closed from the inside. He wondered whether if he should knock on it, which is when it opened hastily, and Freddy's daughter came to view. She recognized him, but said nothing—in-fact she turned her heels and got inside soon locking the doors closed.

_That was rude. _He conceded, however he shrugged and drove past their home. As soon as he was out from the street Freddy's daughter opened the door and looked towards the path where he was driving towards. Pankaj saw her through his rear view mirror and sighed dismally.

"Lagta hai wo dono mujhe kabhi pasand nahi karenge," He thought out loud and accelerated the bike towards the main road.

Due to the traffic about an hour-and a half later he reached his friend Nirvay's house to retrieve the CDs. If there were any friends who he could blindly trust were his childhood buddies, well, truthfully confessing out of hundreds only 5 or 6 were there whom Pankaj considered close enough to share his deepest secrets with. Although, Nirvay was a different case, the larger guy remained oddest in their close circle. He had very few—close to none, if Pankaj scrutinized hard then he could see himself on his not many list. The fat young man was lonely as he could ever be, and as a good friend, Pankaj—no matter what— was always there for him. If there were friends in Nirbhay's list, then it was because Pankaj always introduced him to everyone.

Like a good friend.

Nirbhay worked in Tata Consultancy, as a project manager, and since it was Sunday he normally stayed at his rented home browsing the net, editing photos, reading , he preferred to stay alone most of the time.

Pankaj rang the door-bell few times trying as much as to get on his old friend's nerves. The door was abruptly opened; before him was a disheveled and lethargic looking tall and fat man. Pankaj realized it was too early for him to wake up as the man often slept late. Unapologitically he barged inside and launched himself at the couch while Nirbhay dragged his heavy body towards the bathroom.

"Morning bey!" Pankaj called out loud and clear to which the man grunted his greeting behind the door, "Kuch milaa ki nahi?"

"Khud dekh le, raat bhar dekh raha tha, par itne saare log gujre ke kuch maloom hi nahi padaa. Na khoon dikha, na koi pagal!" he yelled from inside. "Tere police wale nazar se dekh saayad tujhe kuch mil jae. Maine sharpness aur clarity magnify kardiya hai. Tujhe koi paresaani nahi hogi."

"Kaun se folder pe rakha hai save karke?" Pankaj had already logged unto Nirbhay's laptop, and he got his answer—he went straight to work.

Few hours later, Pankaj was already bored but in hopes of finding a clue was rather charming, so he kept on watching, but nothing seemed out of blue. He saw Deepti walking out towards her car, and a small smile crept on his face which his friend noticed.

"Kya maal hai yaar! Kaun hai ye?" He spoke with light humor.

"Club ki malkeen, Deepti. Achi hai na?" Pankaj replied, his eyes still on the feed, on the gorgeous woman.

"Bhai meri setting karwa de na!" Nirbhay began shaking Pankaj with such force; the poor man fell right out of the bed.

"Bhosdike! Tujhe kya dalaal dikhayi deta hun?"

"Bhadakta kyun hai be gandu, mazaak nahi samajhta hai kya?" He spoke irritated, but made a comical face when sudden realization hit his fat head, "Tujhe ye pasand aayi hai, nahi? Isliye khud ke rakhna chahta hai!"

"Ganje ka nasaa utra nahi hai tere iss matke jaise tondh se!"

"Tu bhi toh 160 kilo ka tha, bol kise raha hai, pagal!"

"First of, main 142 ka tha aur 82 ghataya, aur tu 60 ka tha au 120 ka hai. Bol kise raha bitch!"

"True brah," Nirbhay went straight towards his TV and switched it on, still speaking to Pankaj as the set-up box was booting the screen."Toh setting karvayega ki nahi?"

A slight pause later Pankaj spoke, "Seriously?"

But in response all Pankaj got was silence, so he looked towards his age old friend. Who had an expression of longing, which made him realize it was of loneliness. He could say it because he had seen and known it perfectly. His thoughts lingered on the senior inspector who was 43, also as the man—who will probably hit 44 a month later who was still lonely, Daya.

Now, he must confss he rather liked the woman in their little conversation. Her personality definitely was cherishable; her unabashed nature was rather attractive. And of-course he cannot forget her physique. Her ample bosom, along with her luscious hour glass figure—she was surely praise worthy. He won't deny, he expected to hit on her soon. But looking at his friend, he realized he could do something good.

"Mujhe mil lene de usse, phir main dekhta hoon kya kar sakta hoon. Par tujhe ekk cheez karni hogi?"

"Aur woh kya?"

"Wajan ghata apna madarchod!"

"Yada yada, bhosad chod"

The slight flicker on the screen caught Pankaj's attention as he leaned forward to take a good look, he saw something shadowy. Nirbhay turned on the news,

"Bhai ye breaking news jaraa ake dekh," he called out; Pankaj grunted in annoyance as he walked towards the TV and read the headlines.

"An udintenfied mutilated body has been found today morning, when a fisherman notified the police about the smell. The day before, the police already found a body which went viral on the internet although the CID has taken responsibility to solve the case; it is yet to be known who the killer would be." Pankaj silently listened with a frown, "Few hours ago, the police had already explained the nature of murder, due to the similarities it holds with the previous case, it was probably a work done by a serial killer."

That was all he needed to hear. The video was blurred and mosaically censored, but the red fluid on the cart was enough to make a person imagine what face of death the man achieved. A serial killer now was roaming all over the city searching for his next victim. They need to work fast, to prevent it from happening.

. . . .

Daya did his usual routine after waking up, basic push and pull-ups, few hundred skips, then his bathroom etiquette activities. And since it was Sunday there was an extra deed, which involved cleaning every corner of his house. After finishing his house work, he turned on the TV to watch some news—breakfast was damned.

He thoroughly heard and saw the police statement involving both murders, he eventually was so anxious that he had to call to the headquarters. He ordered them to notify him immediately after getting the autopsy report since this work shall also be handed to their team. As expected the ACP called him to get ready to work. Seemingly his Sunday was already prearranged, few skipped meals along with the heat, and he'll probably throw up like yesterday.

So, ACP did not talk about his dispute with the other senior inspector—for which he was rather thankful to God. He'd be more precise on his thoughts that he behaved childishily, and unlikely than his usual cold shouldering the significant flirtation his friend and the woman shared. But he'd prefer not to dwell on his moderate lashing at his best-friend. What he said, was deservable to say the least, and enough was enough.

And, Mr. senior inspector got ready for the strainous job of investigating within few minutes. Thus, he called his company, the young and naïve inspector Pankaj, but got a surprise when the man decided to show up at his door step in flesh.

"Good morning sir," he cheerfully greeted the large man.

"Arey Pankaj tum yahaan? Main abhi tumhe hi phone lagaa raha tha."

"Ji sir! Jab maine aaj ki news dekhi, woh CDs wapas lautane ke baad sidhe yahaan aagaya."

"Toh kuch mila footage se?"

He shook his head pessimistically, "Nahi sir,"

"Unfortuante, I see. Hopefully sayad aaj kuch mil jaye." Daya checked for the surrounding and spotted Pankaj's bike, "Apni gaadi meri garage mein rakh do, aaj toh car se jana padega."

"Thank you sir," Pankaj turned his heels and began walking towards his bike, while Daya was locking his door. He heard the engine flaring to life only to be driven towards his parking spot. Daya went towards his garage and opened the gate. As Pankaj hauled his bike towards Daya's he spotted various tools which were necessary to fix bikes.

"Sir, footage toh time waste thi, socha kuch mil jayega— par kuch bhi nahi." Pankaj watched Daya rummaging through the boxes which apparently had the car keys. Seeing him raise an eyebrow, Pankaj hung his head low.

"Time waste toh hai, par jaroorat bhi hai. Tum ye socho ki, agar kuch mil jata toh? Har waqt negative soch ke kuch fayeda nahi hai. Aaj humme ek aur lash ko dekhne jaana hai, dusre murder ka." He got inside his SUV in the driver's seat, while Pankaj entered the passenger, "Did you see it?"

"Ji sir,"

"Tumhe kisine notify kiya?" He blarred the ignition, and reversed geared the car out from the garage.

"Ji nahi, main apne dost ke yahaan tha jab news dekha, phir sidhe police station jake CDs drop kar yahaan chalaa aaya." Daya nodded, and got out of the car and went towards the gate so as to close it safely. Pankaj observed the man was in good mood, despite the beard that covered his lower-half on his chubby face. The man looked rough, sturdy and worn-out, he looked his age or older than his actual present. When he sat unto his seat again, Pankaj spoke, "Hum kahan jaa rahe hai sir?"

Daya exhaled the words "Headquarters!" since his already was apparently hijacked, "autopsy reports tayaar hai. Bas usse leke nikalna hai ghatna shthal par."

_Ghatna shthal,_

"Sir main soch raha tha ki yeh… aapko lagta hai ki ye koi serial killer ka kaam hai?"

"Ab ye toh laash dekhne ke baad pataa chalega." Daya steered smoothly out from his porch towards the main road's street. His eyes on the road and ears on what Pankaj spoke,

"Sir ye serial killers… mujhe ye pataa nahi ki ye aise harqat karte kyun hai? Unhe kya, kanoon ka darr nahi?" His voice carried legit confusion, which made Daya realize if this becomes a case of serial killer then it may be Pankaj's first case involving mass murder, if they are not able to catch the murderer.

Or murderers

"Yeh toh maloom nahi ki unhe darr lagta hai, ki nahi. Lekin ek cheez yaad rakhna Pankaj. Unhe pakadna bahot muskil bhi nahi hai."

"Woh kaise sir?"

"Unhe pakad mein aane ka darr nahi, jis vajah se woh clues har jagaah chhod jate hai. They are fearless; they don't care about consequences, as they don't bear a conscience. Toh usually, jaldi pakad mein aa jate hai. Haan agar well educated killer hai, toh kuch complications ho sakta hai."

"Samajh gaya sir… ab aapko kya lagta hai ki sab murders kaun kar raha hai? Well educated ya phir koi aera gera?"

"I'm afraid, agar aur jyada bodies drop hota hai phir… hum sab saayad ek intelligent killer ke saath game khelenge. Umeed karta hoon, main galat soch raha hoon." His dismal voice weakened into an audible grunt as he stared ahead at the road, accelerating casually he cut through the vehicles on the highway towards their headquarters.

His companion, Pankaj remained silent with his own musing to tend to. He had seen enough English crime thrillers to know what a serial killer is or was. But, a fictional world and reality do not share many similarities in some terms. Fictional world made them aware of whom the killer may be, but reality had the unknown. The fear of the unknown is far more sinister. He imagined both a man and a woman who held no criminal record, someone fairly young for a beginner, or old to have enough experience and the caution to remain off-radar.

What if?

It wasn't one but many—a group perhaps? A gang maybe, Nagarajan was a criminal too, so there was possibility of his death being a gang related murder. Yes, maybe that might be the answer.

So he asked, "Sir, main soch raha tha ki, agar ye gang related hua toh? Jaise ki Nagarajan ko hi dekh li jiye, woh to thehra underworld ka aadmi— aur aisa ho sakta hai kisi underworld ke kisi aadmi ne uska murder kiya hoga?"

The senior inspector was rather impressed with his question, it made a fairly better point than having a serial killer onboard. The chain-like network of underworld shared many enemies than allies, and the wonder of formulating a 'what if?' statement deserved a medal on its own. Why didn't he think of that? No point in complimenting the younger man, so Daya suppressed his urge to react on his visible astonishment, just simply shrugged and told,

"Baat toh clear-cut hai, Pankaj, par uska jawaab bhi humme iss naye victim ki jaanch ke baad pataa chalega." Pankaj was visibly pleased with Daya's consideration to his stopgap wonderment.

A man out of nowhere jumped before their speeding car, and Daya stomped on the breaks violently. Their car skidded and stopped before the astonished man who stopped motionless in his place. Both inspectors had their seat-belts on, so nothing happened to them other than a rampaging heart, they shared no agonizing wound.

Daya recognized the man from before, the one, who crossed path while he rode his bike,

"Iski toh main!" Pankaj heard Daya holler at the man who was still before the car, and the larger man got out of the vehicle. The cars and motorbikes behind them began honking at them in frustration which got into his nerves especially at a biker who was just behind them. And, so he followed suit towards the back while Daya took the front.

As soon as he got there, Pankaj unleashed his temper with a huge back hand slap at the biker who apparently did not have his helmet on. His sheer force along with the anger behind shook the man from the bike as he fell back.

"Bhootnika, saale madarchod! Tujhe dikhai nahi de raha ki abhi accident ho jata? Bhosdika kab se horn bajaye jaa rahe madarchod," he dragged the fallen man by his collar while forcing him to stand up. He hit him again with another sharp slap which shoved the man outwards. Before he could retaliate, Pankajhad already his fingers around his neck as he unleshed more hits on the man's face. Pankaj's eyes fell upon his senior inspector who had his hands around the man who jumped before them.

"Tujhi ayyi jhawali, apana dole nahi, madarchod!" He heard his senior yelling Marathi. And, then he saw few traffic constables running towards them seeing the mishaps. So, Pankaj slapped few more times before letting the man go who only said,

"Tujhe dekh lunga!" the man yelled back at him as he ingnited his bike on, and began driving away.

"Abhi kya aankh main lauda ghusaya hai bey chutiye?" was Pankaj's only reply as an exclaimation. They were surrounded by people who silently watched the new story unfold before them, when Daya slapped the man unconscious. The constables arrived to yell but Pankaj came to rescue while he dispayed his C.I.D. batch which in turn made them quiet. Daya was breathing hard, and his ire finally calmed, since he took few deep breaths to compose himself.

He turned to look at both traffic constables, then at the traffic which was created due to him. They saluted him in return, and he nodded. By the time the horns were already dead.

"Iss admi ko yahaan se hatao aur pani dalo iske gand mein," He ordered, and they complied by taking the unconscious man away not before checking his pulse which was reacting,"saala gaadi ke aage har waqt jump marta hai, pair kaat do iske…. Madarchod sala chutiya!" His rambling stopped when Pankaj brought a water bottle which which stole from a driver. He took a big sip, and washed his faced with the leftover water. He threw the bottle nearby, and turned his heel towards his car and got inside followed by Pankaj who took the passenger seat.

Starting the car, he drove off towards their destination. Daya's mood was already foul by now, and so was Pankaj's but unlike the senior he had no rank on his side to exhibit it.

. . . .

_Sunday; 11:03 A.M._

Both men reached their destination and entered their respective headquarter, furthermore the shorter man now had somehow managed to stride alongside the taller man who walked a lot faster than the other entire officers in the beaureu. The hallway was scarcer than normal week days, for this was Sunday. Normally, it was the A.C.P. who stayed alive in Sundays occasionally calling them as his old timer friend D.C.P. Chitrole often visited them every now and then during Sundays for inspection.

He sincerely prayed he didn't have to face him.

Scowling Daya was still furious due the incident at the highway; he could've killed the bastard man with a body of an overgrown kid with his car. Dumb fucking people had no common sense, or the traffic etiquettes to check for vehicles before crossing the road. He didn't cared he knocked him unconscious…okay, he did care, and he must admit that it was his unnecessary and uncalled fury that made him utterly violent sometimes.

Although, he genuinely hoped that, his slap should probably be enough for the man to study few traffic rules before walking the path again.

As they entered their office had they been surprised seeing the Deputy Commisioner? Absolutely…not, the old man's routine was to come up every Sunday to falter and ruin their holidays in the name of inspection. He made crude jokes at their intelligence which contradicted their skill at solving cases faster than local police work with perfect accurate results.

"Aarey? Bheemsen aur Ghatothkatch?" His familiar mocking voice perforated their ears, "Ayiye ayiye, aap dono ka hi intezaar kar rahe the. Bahut tariff sunli hai aapke bare, aap toh internet pe bhi chaa gaye."

Daya was confused, so was Pankaj when both looked at each other for a hint.

"Kiski balli chadhaa ke aa rahe ho dono?" Daya searched A.C.P's eyes to find something to read, but the blank stare shrugged him down. So, he took it upon himself.

"Aap kya kehna chahte hai sir?"

Chitrole astounded, turned to look at Pankaj who stepped back unconsciously, "Tum… aaj-kal ke naujawaan ho na? Internet use nahi karte?"

"Karta hoon na sir, par kaam karte waqt nahi." He replied uncomfortably under the older man's gaze which turned into amusement.

"Acha! Toh tum kaam bhi karne lage ho, Fredricks ke saath matargasthi nahi? I'm shocked! No really! I must be imagining." He held his head between his palms and massaged it slowly, "Yeh kya ho gaya hai iss bureau ko! Yeh nikame bhi kaam karne lage hai."

Even though he was deeply offended Pankaj chose to remain quiet, he didn't wish for a transfer order while he was living his dreams in Mumbai. But on the other hand, Daya was not as forgiving as the shorter man, so he tried to defend the sub-inspector's honor.

"Aap aise kaise baat kar sakte hai," He said and his voice raised, when a sudden sense of déjà vu grasped his lecture he gave yesterday at the station was replayed, once more. The reality, struck him again when he heard a familiar statement,

Chitrole stared at the big man for few seconds, observed—deduced a fact, "Main kuch bhi kar sakhta hoon. Ek ungli ghumake tumhara grah-nakhsatra badal sakta hoon. "

The tension in the room heightened when Daya's tongue slipped into a biting remark, "Chalo yeh toh pataa chalaa ki aap kuch toh karte hai, taane marne ke alaawa."

Pankaj snickered, while A.C.P. grimaced at Daya. Chitrole chose to not dwell or feed his anger instead he turned to look at A.C.P, and said,"Ye kaise kaise officer hai tumhare yahaan Pradyuman? Ek toh kaam ki jagaah gunda-gardi karo, logon ko maro-peeto insaaf ki jagaah—phir ek higher rank officer se aise baat karo. Apne bacho ko tameez sikhao A.C.P."

Pradyuman sighed ashamed, whilst shaking his head with , Chitrole was not finished, so to further imply his unnatural aggression he pointed his finger at Pankaj, while still holding Pradyuman's gaze, "Ye ladka,aaj subah subah District Magistrate ke ladke ko peet aya, iss wajah se ki who horn bajaa raha tha."

Pankaj earned a glare from the senior-most person in the entire bureau, as he cowered behind the bigger man who still held a dismissive regard against their guest. Chitrole further spoke, "Aur ye aadmi, tumhara Bheem, ek aadmi ko toh aaj ye maar hi dalta. Who bechara abhi roh raha hai, ye jaan ke ki iss admi pe case nahi kar sakta hai kyun ki ye C.I.D. se jo belong karta hai na, agar karega toh daraa dhamka ke usse dabaa dega ye, Bheem ka aulaad. Wah re kismat wah!"

Daya glowered at the shorter man whose mouth had no loose end, as much as he disliked his own inability to face someone with speech, he disliked his worthlessness when he can't even use his strength on this man. He saw around the office and found few associates which included, Shreya who was trying to hide her face behind a monitor; and Nikhil along with Sachin who pretended to carry a non-existing conversation trying not to look towards them.

"Ye sach hai, Pankaj?" Pradyuman chose to counter the timid looking young man who fidgeted uncomfortably under his stare. Yet his silence gave up his answer. "Aaj apna kaam khatam karte hi usse sorry bol aoge samjhe?"

His happiness was cut-short when, Chitrole interjected, "Sirf sorry? Arey isne sab ke saamne usse kutte ki tarah maara hai, who bhi nikame ki tarah gaali dete hue. Pata hai who aadmi, uska baap mera dost hai?"

Pradyuman was getting irritated with the senior officer's rambling. As a man who had sacrifed his time, his age, and family to the job—he certainly was the man of the office. These new kids were their successors, their heritage of being exceptional detectives of their time. He had this little doubt, a kind little stipulation that he might not live long enough.

His depression, his loneliness was slowly—unforgivingly, was grasping his consciousness. And he was aware, perfectly aware what it was doing to him.

Pradyuman looked at his one-half protégé, the grim faced, brute of a detective, Daya, and found him in a precarious situation, much similar to himself. On the contrary, it was his achievements, and astute arrogance held his grave glum in a vice grip to let it slip out, he was a proud Maratha after-all. And that asture arrogance was what his protégé did not possess. No forgivance in his brute demeneor, the man was rather soft-spoken, timid as he could he, innocent as a child—however all those traits are now debatable.

Nikhil had described him in absolute detail about his mystic verbal spats with his other protégé, Abhijeet. Even though he was far from astonished, he made it clear it was a phase of jealousy, which he was rather familiar with. If he could look back at his past, his relationship with his former partner, friend and brother Chitrole can be replayed once again. Chitrole, who was good with words made it to the top, over him, while he, perished within the ranks to remain in one spot—seemingly forever.

Unlike him, who was silenced during that time by his superior to face his own object of envy, he let Daya have the freedom to confront. Not surprised at the result when Abhijeet presented his propaganda to be removed from his given duty, the case of Nagarajan, while Daya held the case of the murderer. Abhijeet had no intention whatsoever to confront his friend. But, much like himself, he dismissed his dull advancement and rebuked him as both needed to face the other in order to sort their differences.

It was good for the team, their office and good for themselves; it must be good for Daya as well. Presently the said man had no one to lean on, and cases like these are more challenging to the heart than to the brain. And, Pradyuman knew what kind of man Daya was, the brooding giant, who had no one except for Abhijeet to share his secrets with.

His mulling came to a halt realizing he was staring dourly at his own reflection and his ex-friend rambling, so he finally spoke in a burly voice, as an age old man,"Ho gaya tumhara Chitrole?"

His dismissal of rank was a force that shook Chitrole off his endless lecture, he dramatically albeit comically turned to look at his old friend/enemy, "Chitrole?" he repeated,

"Chitrole?" he said again, much to himself that to everyone in the room who had a look of horror in their eyes, "Bhul gaye ki main tumhara senior hoon?"

Pradyuman shook his head, "Nahi bhoola, lekin tum saayad bhool gaye ki tum ek well respected Inspector aur uske team ki bezati kar rahe ho."

The scorn converted to an ominous atmosphere in the room when Chitrole responded, "Ye? Respected? Tumhe respect ka matlab maloom bhi hai? Ye 6 foot ka aadmi, darr phelata hai, respect nahi."

"Darr unko lagta hai jo galat kaam karte hai, kya tumhe lagta hai—darr, Chitrole?" A.C.P's sharp rebuttal made his old friend fumble with words. He hid his face by turning his back to them. Every person in the room was stunned seeing Pradyuman's behavior which was chaotically calm and composed. Chitrole's forehead aroused a drop of sweat out of nervousness but he refused to let it slide.

"Ab ye Daya aaj subah traffic main, ek admi ko behosh kar aaya hai, aur who video abhi internet pe bhi aa chukka hai, jab who aadmi maan haani ka case thokega aur media vale tumhare pichwade lagenge tab mere paas mat aana." He dismally said, while turning his heels towards the exit door. He staggeringliny made his way out not before glaring at Pankaj who gulped nervously. Although he sharply looked over his shoulder and stared right at his old friend.

He declared, "Koni vakil darshwili jate tohve, Pradyuman, mala apla chehra naka darsvu junya mitra."

They saw his retreating form go, but it came to a halt when Pradyuman's voice interrupted their conflicting thoughts, "Daya! Pankaj! Dono mere cabin pe!" he barked his orders and walked out with them following him.

As they entered whilst Pankaj closed the doors he saw the older man stanind by the window staring down at the road below their office. His back displayed confidence an arrogance, along with the experience he had gained as an Inspector in the field. He looked like the Assistant Comissioner of Police rather than a familiar man who was known as a father figure to them.

"Ye sab kya hai Daya?" he did not exclaim or screamed, but his tone induced valor yet he didn't turn to look at them.

"Wo aadmi car ke saamne agaya sir," Daya replied, stiff whilst stepping on stones in a calculating reason.

"Main uski baat nahin kar raha," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "Abhijeet ko tumne kya kaha?"

Daya grimaced with a scowl so terrifying that Pankaj instinctively stepped few feet away from him. He was fraught with stern anger; he had enough of every one caring for that man who betrayed their brotherhood, that man who had no respect whatsoever for him; the man, who considered him nothing but a child, disregarded him as a man. The man—that man who was regarded perfect in seemingly every mankind's eye.

Was he so perishable? Had he not done enough for the bureau for people to notice him? They glorified _him, _they praised _him. _All they saw was _him._

His scornfulness got the better of him as he spoke with disdain, "Kya aapke favorite officer ke armano ko thes pahuchai hai maine? Aap chahte hai, usse main sorry bolu jaise ki aapne Pankaj ko kaha?"

"Pankaj ki baat alag hai, aur tumhara alag." The older man finally turned to look at him, and his eyes held no anger but serenity, "Tumne na sirf tumhare dost ki armano ko thes pahunchai hai, balki tumhare colleague ki bhi. Wo officer jo ki tumhare iss case main ek important pehlu hai."

Daya's demeneaor still held contempt as he was breathing hard with fury, "Important pehlu…"

But the older man interrupted him, "Pehle sunlo meri baat."

Pradyuman inhaled a sharp breath followed by an exhausting sigh, "Mujhe nahi jaanna ki tum dono ke beech kya aur kyun hua, who tum dono ki problem hai, par mujhe ye jaanna hai ki tumne aisa kya kaha ki wo sidhe iss case se apna naam hataa raha hai."

The glare was returned by Daya to his father figure superior officer, he retorted, "Everything is interconnected sir, agar aapke saukeen officer ko thodi si sachai bura laga to iss case mein uska koi kaam hi nahi hai."

"Agar wo kaam karna nahi chahta, toh Sachin ko boliye ki Nagarajan ke baare mein jaanch-padtaal kare."

"Tumhe pataa hai na bagair senior Inspector ke supervision pe aise cases sub-inspector kuch nahi kar sakte?" Pradyuman slowly walked towards him, his posture flaunted transcendency as he stood right before Daya. The older man stared upwards at Daya who looked down at him. "Par Abhijeet ne aisa nahi kiya… kyun maloom hai?"

Daya remained quiet, so the older man spoke, "Kyun ki wo tumse behtar hai."

Daya mocked a laugh, and it was frightening for Pankaj who cowered nearby ACP's table. "Sab wahi sochte hai sir, aapko kya lagta hai? Ki mujhe maloom nahi nahi iss soch ke baare mein? Ki Abhijeet better hai mujhse, Abhijeet ye aur who. Maine iss bureau ko apna 17 saal de diya, ye sunne ke liye ki Abhijeet mujhse better hai?"

"Kya sirf tumne hi diya hai? Abhijeet kya faltu mein aise hi baitha rehta hai?" ACP challenged, aware of Daya's envy he was igniting more fire to the innocence of Daya, "Tumne jitni goliyaan khayi hai, utni usne bhi khai hai. Tum dono bhagidaar ho iss bureau ki credit pe."

Pradyuman wished for the man before him to catch the hint that whatever CID was today was because of both. But, if Daya desired for more, then he needed to cut ties and walk alone. The path of loneliness is much painful to walk, as it will lack a conscience, but inorder to find self, a man needs to get lost.

Pradyuman knew, he perfectly knew.

"Nahi sir, maine jitna khoon bahaya hai, utna usne nahi bahaya. Main hi wohi kawach hoon jisne usse har baar bachaya hai complicated situations se, na ki usne. Aap ko toh pataa ho na chahiye na, ACP sir."

"Mujhe pataa hai kisne kitna kaam kiya hai, par dikhta toh wohi acha hai har case pe, wo tumhe over-shadow kar raha hai. Tumhe agar ye na manjoor hai—agar lagta hai ki tum usse behtar ho… toh prove karo. Apne aap ko prove karo."

"Agar aap mere professional life ko imply kar rahe hai toh thik hai sir, par mere personal problem main aapka kuch kaam nahi, I apologize but that's how it shall be, sir." Pradyuman was not surprised, he'd rather expected the rebuke, and the man was sacrificing everyone to get lost. Hopefully, his favorite son will come back home after finding himself truthfully.

After a few long seconds, Pradyuman spoke like a superior officer, "You are dismissed," and so, as both the men turned their back, he spoke again, "Tum nahi, Pankaj."

Pankaj remained in the cabin as Daya walked out the door, as he desperately needed to smoke out his frustrations and a bad day.

"Tumne kyun mara uss ladke ko?" the voice shook him from a trance like state, and Pankaj found himself in an uncomfortable circumstance. Usually, he avoided direct contact with the man, he always had this feeling that the senior man thought of him as an A class clown, an ass clown to sound precise.

"Sorry, sir." It sounded like a child making an apology before his class teacher.

"Sorry nahi, explaination, varna suspend kar dunga." Pradyuman's stern declaration broke his determination, and he crumbled under his glare.

"Ji… sir…main, main," he fidgeted.

"Main, main kya?"

"Ji sir, who gussa aa gaya, jab sir apna aapaa kho baithe, tab wo ladka horn bajate hi jaa raha tha, toh…"

"Toh tumne bhi apna aapaa kho diya?" He sighed as he walked back towards his chair behind his table. "Dekho Pankaj, main tumhe lecture nahi dene wala. Tum to dekh hi sakte ho gusse main aadmi kya kya kar leta hai, best example toh tumhara partner hai iss case mein..."

He solemly looked at the younger man, who in return stared blankly, seeing the fire in his boss' eyes slowly fading from his face. He appeared old, which every believed but the aged man was good at pretending or hiding his nature. For once Pankaj saw the old man, the Assistant Commissioner of Police whose maturity prevail all their glory combined.

He realized that man was speaking to him, "…Pankaj, agar iss case mein tum bhi apna aapaa kho doge toh, galati hone ki chances bahot badh jayega. A voice of reasoning should always be there. Aur wo reason tumhe banana padega..."

The silence remained comprehensive and ACP still kept talking, "…aur main ek saath do-do officer ko khona nahi chahta. Samajh sakte ho na meri baat?"

The younger male dumbly nodded, deciphering each syllable hearing he was finally considered as an officer and not an ass clown, "…Daya ke saath jo kuch chal raha hai, wo natural hai, aur usme wo kabiliyaat hai iss situation se baahar nikalne ka, mujhe pura bharosa hai uss par… par agar wo akela rahega, toh besaq pagal ho jayega, toh agar tum usse iss case mein ek reasoning banoge, toh saayad wo apne aap ko jaldi dhoond payega."

"Par sir, Daya sir toh koi bache nahi hai ki unhe kisi zaroorat padegi, ussi ke wajah se toh unki aur Abhijeet sir ke beech jhagda ho gaya tha." The words flew out colorfully which in turn silenced ACP who parted his lips to speak but there were no words available.

Building his confidence Pankaj gambled more unto his opinion, "Sir, jitna waqt maine sir ke saath guzaara hai parso se, mujhe ye pataa chala ki unhe severe underestimation naa gawaara hai. Aur Abhijeet sir—" he chose his words carefully, "—sir ne kuch jyada hi underestimate kar diya Daya sir ko, toh mujhe lagta hai uss wajah se… dono ke beech, jhagda hua…" his foretelling faded into whisper as he saw the older man deciphering his reasoning.

"Chalo bhai! Jo bhi uun dono ke beech hua—uun dono ko solve karni hogi, mujhe fikar hai toh case ke baare mein… kuch pataa chalaa tum dono ko?" Pankaj noticed the avoidance of subject, he was aware the older man cared a lot more than he showed.

"Maine uss club ke footages dekha hai, usme se toh kuch nahi mila sir, aur aaj subah news dekha, toh pataa chala ki ye ek serial killer ka kaam hai."

"Lagta toh waisa hi hai, maine laash ko dekha hai—aur wo dekhne laayak nahi thi. Uska muh hi nahi hai itni buri tarah se mara hai usse ki uska muh pura andar dab gaya hai. Pehchan toh door ki baat hai."

Pankaj always had a vivid imagination, and the visual representation of the body in his mind was overwhelming. So, if only the face has been disfigured then the theory of having a serial killer will turn moot.

"Toh sir, ye kaam kisi serial killer ka kaise hua?" he asked.

"Kyun ki, uske sareer mein se heroine mili hai bilkool pehle ki laash ki tarah. Aur iss baar, ek nahi do laashe mili hai. Dusre wale ki jankari news walo ke paas nahi hai. Usme se bhi heroine mili hai..." The older man grabbed a pen from the table and began twirling it between his fingers thoughtfully, "…Pehle wale ka body post-mortem ho chukka hai, abhi tum dono ko dusre wale ke paas jana hoga. Daya ko notify kardo aur niklo yahaan se."

"Sir, humara ek doubt tha," Pankaj spoke—his confidence foreshadowing those sweats that formed on his temple despite the room was air conditioned.

"Kya?"

"Hummein lagta hai ye kaam gang related ho sakta hai."

"Ho sakta hai, laash ki pahchan agar ho jaati hai tab pataa chalega. Abhi niklo, kaam pe lag jao."

"Ji sir," Pankaj saluted and walked out from the cabin to find his senior officer.

Dayanand Shetty had found his shelter in the men's toilet, as he sat atop the toilet seat and smoked to his heart's content. He pondered about the deal that transpired between him and Pradyuman. What he had said was outrageous, and considering the older man didn't yell or shout showed how degraded his mental agony has become.

After finishing his smoke, he got up and flushed down the offensive material with the water. Opening the door he came face to face with his own reflection. He slowly washed his hand, while observing the grey patches on his stubble beard he drank his tiredness and lonliness with a heavy liver just so he could sleep. Insomnia was never a good choice for an officer of the law; he needed sleep which he found after drowning in beer the night beforeand routinely he woke up early without a hangover.

He washed his face, hands and shoved some water unto his eyes which reddened as the cold water struck his nerves. Taking out his handkerchief he cleaned the remaining dirt, grime and tension with it he walked out of the toilet.

Few yards later he came face to face with the only woman in the office this Sunday, Shreya.

"Sir," she said unsettled, to the unfamiliar man who seemed more like a stranger than her—their Daya sir.

"Bolo." It came out like an order, he stood his full height and she had to arch her neck upwards to read his eyes. He smelt of raw cigarette smoke, and instinctively she squint her eyes as her nose picked up. No woman liked a man if he smoked.

"Aap smoke karte hai?" she asked innocently.

Daya reached into his pocket and retrieved a mint flavored gum; he quickly toppled it inside his mouth and began chewing it, "Haan."

"Kyun? Aapne wo TV wali ad nahi dekhi?"

"Kyun? Kyun ki main smoke kar sakta hoon isiliye. Pichle bees saal se cigarette smoke kar raha hoon, Ad ke anusaar ab tak toh maar chuka hota." He dryly told, "Tumhe problem ho rahi hai?"

That particular enquiry was a mystery on its own, whether he was concerned or challenging her, she found it rather confused. So she excused herself from the strange man, and walked towards the women's washroom.

. . . .

Both me met at the parking lot, where Daya occupied the wheels while his companion—the young and fat boy Pankaj took his usual spot—the passenger seat. Both were reviewing their uneventful day, although Daya had lot more to think about, but Pankaj concentrated on the case. Like his senior Inspector has declared that he must supervise his opinions and lest the man stay lonely to dwell on his thoughts, personal problems are quite nauseous.

They drove towards the forensic lab where the second dead body was comprised of. It awaited its visitation to the morque, but for their sake it was kept still for few hours. Daya drove quietly, and so was Pankaj who continued his mulling over the theory of not having a serial killer, he was becoming obsessed with that enigma. Just one body and it had taken a toll on his mind, how many more and he'll forget about the world.

It was both riveting and stimulating; he may see a mythical world of demons that were commonly known as criminal, not those petty puny perpetrators, but the dangerous. However, for him a ghost, nothing is more dangerous than a non-existing entity. He dearly prayed it is not a ghost who is killing all.

It didn't take more than half-an-hour to reach their destination. While Pankaj wished for the murderer being a human and not a ghost, his companion—the tall, big and brawly Inspector had other thoughts. He was not expecting to see Tarika after all that transpired the day before, and combining all the piss poor day Sunday; he certainly hoped not to see her. He saw her yesterday watching both the men sizing up to get an upper hand, which eventually none achieved.

As both of them entered, they saw Salunkhe and no Tarika, thanking his dear God or Karma or whatever; Daya entered to get a clear view on the body. He earned a greeting from Salunkhe who was still lively as ever, with his fake colored hair and a jovial smile.

He was strictly professional as he spoke, "Boss, ye dekho… aisi haalat ki hai ki isse keede bhi na khae."

"Keede nahi khaenge? Wo kaise sir, maggots to har cheez khaa jatein hai." Pankaj was back to his idiotic migrainic childish self. Nevertheless, instead of paying attention to the lecture that the doctor was fighting with, he chose to look at the body.

The throat was open and Salunkhe somehow tied a knot to the food tract that happened to be outside. He shared nothing similar to Nagarajan whose eyes and lips were sewn shut. It was not stitched but the eye shocked had burn marks, with no eye balls in it. His lips were swollen and parted, which exhibited a toothless grin, as the cut marks on his jaws were wide open. The most disturbing part was the tongue which hung lifelessly out of his mouth. "Ջոկեր" Unknown, and unreadable—a foreign language, those letters were carved on his swollen white tongue.

"Ye kya likha hai doctor saab?" Daya enquired, he took a closer look by leaning forward.

"Mujhe kya pataa? Lagta hai tattoo jaisa, par hai nahi. Uski jabaan be ragad ke likha hai. Sirf wahaan nahi iske…" the short man removed the white sheet that covered him and showcased the whole body of the dead man, "Iske pure badan pe likhi gayi hai."

Pankaj was horrified at what he saw, although he hadn't seen Nagarajan's body he had seen the picture on the internet. And discovering the brutality portrayed on a canvas was much better than reliving it with his livid imagination. The stab wound seemed down to top, like the murderer punctured looking eye-to-eye with the man as he dragged the metal disclosing those innards to spill out. Thankfully those were tied unto knots by the doctor Salunkhe.

"Aur sirf iski nahi, dusre wale ke body pe bhi likhi gayi hai…" he quickly walked towards his space board where laid few documents, "…iske seene pe likha hai, and everything has been carved." He spoke with such glee, as if he wandered with utmost fascination due his interest in morbid fantasia; Dr. Salunkhe was a morbid man after-all.

And it disturbed Pankaj.

The short man handed those documents to Daya who quietly went through the pictures and the reports. The man who apparently went by the name, Harish Rizwaan was a cocain smuggler by profession. Nevertheless, he had few run-ins with police station but walked out with bribes— no surprise there. Did Daya felt sorry for the man? The aspects of pure savagery left him having double thoughts, yes he felt sorry for not identifying him through his face, which was flattened to the floor—it was beyond disfigurement. Yet he didn't felt sorry while reading his criminal history.

Daya wondered what could be the last thoughts both these men shared when they were murdered.

"Ye letters toh match nahi kar rahe hai, sir. Ye likha kya hai?" he repeated frustrated, _ագահություն_; he wondered what the hell does that even mean.

Do they have a foreigner who is behind all these murders?

"Mujhe kya pataa?" Dr. Salunkhe instinctively replied, even though the question was not for him.

Apologetic, Daya asked, "Sorry sir, aap ko nahin keh raha… ye… ye laash kiski hai?"

"Satyajit More, ek A class supari killer, ye pichle teen saalo se most wanted list pe tha."

"We have a Batman roaming this city, I'm telling you sir!" Pankaj who looked ashen finally spoke through the bile that was reaching his throat. "Ye sab ussi ka kaam lagta hai, kisi gang member ka nahi."

"Jahaan tak mujhe pataa hai, Batman khoon toh nahi karta." Salunkhe jested while covering the body with a white spread. Doing so, he told Daya to take post-mortem along with other documents that he kept on his work table.

"Doctor Saab, aapko kya lagta hai ki ye khoon gang related hai? Ya ye koi serial killer ka kaam hai?" Still imagining the agonizing pain, Pankaj spoke through the nausea that churned inside his belly.

"Main ek doctor ka rawaiya de saktha hoon, ek professional opinion," he narrowed his eyes behind the glasses he wore as he observed both the men who stood side-by-side.

"Iss aadmi ka heart churaya gaya hai, agar usse na nikalta toh ho sakta hai ki ye sayad abhi kisi hospital ke ICU pe hota, bach jata heroin overdose se. Ye jo bhi hai, jaisa bhi hai, painstalkingly aur time le kar maar raha hai, inn dono bodies ke beech teen ghante ka interval hai. Mujhe maloom nahi ki ye kya jataana chahta hai aise maar kar, par ye jaroor saabit hota hai, ki agar isse na rokaa gaya toh ye aur khoon bahayega."

He disturbingly in a whispery voice further spoke, "Ye khooni apna design abhi tak sirf criminals logon par apply kar raha hai, aur ye brutality dekh ke main ye keh sakta hoon ki ye sidhe-sadhe innocent logo ko bhi marne lagega."

"Aapko lagta hai ki ye ek sadist hai?" Daya enquired solemly, accepting the doctor's opinion as his own.

"Lagta toh nahi, woh abhi tak toh bagair dard ki maut baant raha hai, lekin agar ab wo khoon karne laga toh saayad… saayad, usko ye superiority ki bhanak lag jayegi, prarthna karo Pankaj, prarthna, agar superiority hua, toh wo saayad heroin ki doses dena band kardega." The doctor got behind his table, and dialed few numbers as he waited for the other line to answer.

"Jaldi kaam par lag jao Daya, agar tumne usse nahi pakda toh ho saktha hai ki aur bodies milegi, aur woh bodies aur burre haalat mein milegi." The short statured man warned him in a voice which Daya found intimidating, before he could ask more question the other line on the phone answered and Salunkhe was deep in conversation. He was talking with the workers from the morgue.

Taking that as a cue Daya turned his back to the good doctor and walked out from the office while Pankaj on toe behind him. The young man's ashen face finally found its color as he saw Daya's hardened and focused expression. The documents on his hands were crushed with the grip the man had on the files, seeing that Pankaj knew what was going on in his head.

He was focused to prove his worthiness over his best-friend who was now—he considered as his rival, he desperately needed to prove a moot point of being better.

There was no doubt, he was already better as he remained alone. And Pankaj had a new found respect for the man. The man always remained behind all the glory, all the praises. The man always walked alone.

"Ab kahaan sir?" He asked while getting inside the car.

Daya did look while answering, "Embassy."

Pankaj nodded knowingly, as the man put the vehicle on ignition, and steered his car away from the parking spot. He finally checked his phone in instinct to see the clock even though he had a wrist watch, but got a surprise seeing Deepti Chauhan's friend request as his notification. He forgot he had to check for the time.

Time was valuable for Daya so he always drove faster, no less for the time being it was 1:37 P.M and looks like they'll be skipping a meal today.

. . . .

_Sunday: 6:33 A.M._

"Kaam khatam ho gaya?" an aged man asked his companion who strolled beside him glumly. The companion nodded in approval while staring blankly forward. They were brisk walking unceremously; the middle-aged man was breathing hard, and his grey hair spotted sweat that covered his entire face. His companion, no more than 35 was a tall bald man who looked sharp and intimidating, but looked fairly younger than his age.

"Haan,"

"News main dekha maine ki C.I.D. involve ho chuki hai who Tamil aadmi ke case mein," He stopped on his track which his bald companion imitated, both stared all around the beach.

After a pause the bald head man replied, "Ji,"

"Toh mujhe kya karna hai? Boriya bishtar— baandh kar China nikalna hai ya phir khudkushi?" The slight humor in his desperation was amusing for the bald headed man, who found it difficult to hold back his snicker, but eventually he did held it back.

"Aapko kuch karne ki zaroorat nahi hai, aur rahi baat C.I.D. ki, toh aap befikar rahiye, woh kuch track kar nahi payenge."

"Fikar kaise naa karoon? Tumhe pataa hai na unki track record case solve karne main kaise hai? It's down right frightening." the older man hissed, noticing few people walking past them, "Pataa hai drugs ki market chalaana kitni mushkil hai? Agar unhe ek bhi suraag mila toh hamara kundli unke haath main aa jayega."

"Aap kuch jyada hi tareef kar rahe hai unki, sir." The tall man deadpanned and the older man stared perplexed. The bald man looked towards a woman walking her dog before them whilst speaking, "Suraag agar milbhi gayi, toh woh hamaari taraf isara nahi karegi. Unko lagega ki ye serial killer ka kaam hai."

"Aur woh galat bhi nahi hai," the man's tone darkened, as he began walking slowly with his companion. "Agar unhe bhanak bhi lag gayi, toh socho hamaara pura shantanat khatam ho jayega iss desh main."

"Aap kuch jyada hi tension lete hai sir," The tall man stood before him and stared down at the shorter—older man who suspiciously watched him. "Mere kabiliyat pe aapko saq hai kya?"

Few moment of silence later the man spoke again, "Tumhe maloom hai ki uss Tamil aadmi ki maut kyun hui hai?" the man's gaze fell upon the woman who was walking the dog, seeing her he smiled and waved his hand, which the woman returned with her own.

"Ji nahi,"

"Tumhe ekk fact batataa hoon, dhyan se sun na. Iss dosho crore ki abaadi vale desh mein, baby boom toh hua tha, usse yeh toh pataa chalta hai ki jyadatar naujawaan bhatakte hai raat pe. Unki urges, fantasies, requirements sab raat ko hi baahar aate hai, jise pane keliye unhe energy chahiye. Unhe pura karne keliye clubs-vlubs main jyadatar bheed rahti hai, yahaan tak ki underage aged bhi kabhi kabhar door pe dikhai dete honge nahi?" the bald man nodded, whilst the older man continued, "Uun naujawaano ki wajah se toh hamaari business phal-phool raha hai, hum utne hi unpar dependent hai jitna ki woh ham par. Agar hum pakde gaye to kya hoga kabhi socha hai tumne?"

The tall man silently listened to the older man's ramblings, "Nagarajan ne apne demands kuch jyada hi badha diya, aur hamare iss business mein hamein jyadatar dusro ki zaroorat hoti hai, toh woh hume apne maal supply karta, aur hum usse. Par uss admi ko kuch jyada chahiye tha, uske urges aur needs humse jyada hogaya. Woh aadmi ek balance tod raha tha, agar hum nahi maante toh humara chain toot jaata… samajh rahe ho ki nahi?"

"Ji,"

"…Kabiliyat sab main hoti hai, uss Tamil aadmi ke paas ye kabiliyat thi ki woh ladkiyo phasaa leta tha. Kabiliyat ye thi ladkiyan apne-aap kaam pe lag jaate, unhe force karne ki zaroorat nahi thi. Aisa muh tha uss aadmi ka. Isiliye toh uska muh band karna padaa."

"…Aur usne apko ussi muh se dhamkaya? Aur aapko naa gawara tha—darr tha, ki uski wajah se koi aur, aapke saath gadaari kare?"

"Samajhdaar ho bhai tum," the man turned towards the baldy, and stared dangerously with narrowed eyes, "Tumhare kabiliyat pe mujhe koi saq nahi, aur na hi kabhi hogi bhi. Tum bharose laayak aadmi ho, Vajra. Main bas yahi bataa raha hoon ki tumhare iss arrogant raveiye 'kabiliyat' ke wajah se aur ek balance na toot jaye,"

The bald man Vajra's blank stare was now on him when he said, "Balance toh barkaraar rahega sir, aap maal giraye aur hum laashein."

The older man visibly shivered with the voice the man used, the sinister glint on his eyes raise chills inside him. Shrugging the tension, the man reached inside his pocket to retrieve his phone. "Apnaa Bluetooth on karna," which Vajra complied,

"Yeh dono kaun hai?" he asked intrigued,

"Ye kaun hai aur kya karte hai, woh tumhare kuch kaam nahi ayega. Bas itna samajhlo ki ye tumhare naya sikaar hai, ye dono kuch jyaada udd rahe hai, inke pankh kaat dena. Aur dhyaan rakhna kuch gadbad na ho." The bald man just nodded, and jogged towards the opposite direction. The older man stood silently observing the retrieving man when the woman with dog came to him.

"Chale, Mr. Chauhaan?" she said,

"Chaliye darling ji,"

_To Be Continued._

* * *

_**A/N: **_And so I hope you like this journey so far. I must confess I had a difficult time typing all that with a dis-functioning fingers, after surviving a minor accident, even though I walked out with minor injuries, including scratches and stitches it was still grueling. Nevertheless, I was anxious to update, and I finished! Now I'm satisfied.

So now to answer your questions guest reviewers.

Now we know Daya is a tough cop with a ridiculous overly melodramatic cry which I believe is unnecessary if he has to be portrayed as a tough man in the show. I've no complaints if those were done for the sake of character development, but I didn't find it little bit interesting, it was rather disappointing to see a grown man cry with all those tears and snots. I found it hilarious in-fact. :P Sorry but that's what I thought watching that episode.

So, this story is an Alternate take on our favorite show, people shall be portrayed differently, so there won't be a crying criminal after earning a slap from Daya. But instead, there will be criminals who will retaliate with a punch. Him vomiting was a case of food poisoning, and humidity and I suppose, a product of over imagination. :P I think that's a valid excuse, I apologize.

And your request to add Shreya, I introduced her, hopefully I can justify her character in upcoming chapters. But I must say, results may vary. Sorry if I disappointed you with her screen time Miss YRSTMP but I assure you, she'll be there in the next chapter.

Also I considered Miss Aditi not wishing a Dareya fic, neither do I expect it do be an angst romance based fiction, truth be told I don't really enjoy those.

More characters will play their roles in future but those will be selective few, to help the story's protagonists with the procedures. More characters means more complications jumping from point-of-views, it will be confusing. But I'll try my best, so, not to worry.

How do I manage so much? I think motivation to write longer chapters, and longer chapters means more route to explore their minds. I like going through all that.

Now I shall take my leave, to finish another chapter from my other stories. Bye.. Have a great week/month everyone.

Till then off~

_Formerly known as, _Bossmann.

PS: I used translator to write those words which means Joker and Greed.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Finally! The Sludge has come back!**_ I sincerely apologize for the delay.

Thank you for your awesome reviews on **_High Tension_**, it was quite flattering. I really thought I didn't had it to write a horror story. So, if you've notice I've changed the tag of this story to horror. The reason behind is that I cannot write mystery so, I thought I should make the killer visible to the audience unlike the show.

I have been struggling to write after a long break, thanks to my mid-terms, my cousin brother's marriage- I tried to write, and all that appeared was- can't say crap, but I felt like it. I lost the flow, and the motivation. I dared not to omit since, it really took a lot of time to go through my head and search for words. Rather few days ago, I somehow managed to grab hold of the flow again- so, here I am uploading this work.

The first-half I consider total random cause I kept writing something I had no idea about, but I think second half is by far good.

This chapter will convey the characters in negative lights, which I think- none have portrayed them as such so far. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. But, I'm nervous tweaking your favorite characters to something else.

_**Rated: **_**M**

**Warning: **The chapter contains mentions of drug abuse, coarse language, and suggestive themes. May contain grammatical- spelling errors, also may contain bad Hindi too (It is not my first language)

**_Disclaimer:_** Show belongs to Mr. B. P. Singh and Sony TV India.

* * *

_**BLOOD**_

_Chapter 4: __Insanity Part-1_

The silence could walk along side the rush of wind. So much similar to man, that could do wonders with just a flicker or a spark on his conscious brain. It makes a man what he is, despite the manipulation—despite the motivation, a man is a man and none can change that fact. Fully aware of the consequences, fully aware of the deed of conveyance—no matter how sinister, how violent and cruel it is— the man will not change. The work is what keeps him alive; it proves that his existence is not completely worthless and desolated.

It keeps his sanity unaffected, it keeps his thoughts in trail—he is focused, and he is convinced of his threat. His fate was sealed ever since he was a child, he will die—he was an offering to the universe, a foiled plan of destiny. So, he chose to return the existence of man to its root in his place. If that is what karma asks then he shall provide.

He is fascinated to the destruction, complete removal. He fancy the reaper, he fantasizes the agony.

Death incarnate, how pleasant does it sounds to his ears, or his mind. Does that make him the grim reaper or simply a cleanser of this world, an obvious vindicator of life? Meaning his views, his retribution or his vengeance to his sealed fate that is what he often wondered. There must be a plan for him, his existence was worthwhile—he is worthwhile.

So he dragged his box cutter blade as a scalpel through the skin near the shoulder blades. Surgically imparting the filament from the flesh, he saw thick ruby fluid streamed down unto the metal bed. Much like him, he met the silence—the man in his care felt no pain, which he desperately wanted to inflict, he needed to see him scream, to feel the quivering earthquake; but he saw and felt none. Much to his dismay, it was rather annoying—everytime he was hired to inflict pain, to see the suffering of his fellow human he saw none.

It made him angry, it made him diabolically furious.

Consequences,

His slender hand tightened the grip on the rope that he held—and he heaved the heavy body to the air, suspending the gasping man between both trees. He frowned, there was something suspicious. He cherished his art every now and then; this is what made him feel good. This is what he was good at. So, he tied his rope to the sullen branches of the depressed nature and stepped back to observe.

Something was amiss.

Giddy and anxious he wondered what the world will think of his offering, his portrait of the great depression. Existence does not change, but it can be evolved to something better. If the world needs him as a reaper, then he shall properly deliver.

A silhouette of some sort got his attention, and he turned around only to come face to face with a spectator. His witness stepped back, his fear—the man understands what fear is, the man could see his eyes even in the darkness. The silence on his ear picked nothing, but the unscreamed fraught crept on his skin. His blood violently paced within his nerves when he saw his spectator fleeing away from him.

He didn't acknowledge his hard earned piece of work!

_Make sure no one sees you; if they do… then you know what to do._

He vaguely remembers, him nodding to that.

That made the man furious, as he picked up a knife and shot off—like a demon chasing its prey, he sprinted after the running mule. The thick wood had its advantage, as no one could hear an alarming scream.

He knows because he didn't hear it.

. . . .

_Sunday, _

_3:23 P.M_

"Swagat nahi karoge humara?" his thick voice penetrated even in loud snaps of few fisher men. They noticed he was not particularly alone, as he was accompanied by four. The darkly tanned man strutted towards a man who suspiciously glared at his arrival. His sharp dressing in a grimy place like this made him look like an alien, all his pupils were aliens.

It was for certain, they weren't needed.

"Kaun hai tu?" he took a swig of the cheap alcohol he held while he glanced at the women near the door. The man removed a chair near the table and sat facing him. The sharply dressed man was composed to a frightening degree, as he observed the glare he earned from the fisher men that were not enjoying their drinks. His sunglasses reflected the afternoon delight, as he smelled the aura of dead fish, fresh tobacco and cheap alcohol. Recalling his operation at few places from the past, he stared at the man before him.

"Hum wo hai, jo ache ache aadmiyonki pant geeli kardein," he removed his glasses to wink at him. "Par aap sab toh paani mein hi rahte ho na? Toh aap sabki gaand mein se abhi ghee niklegi."

Hearing his mocking threat the man before him laughed, so did his companions who got up from their seats and neared both men who kept their eyes on each other. The man felt his four appearing near him, as they stood behind him. He observed the surrounind cautiously, and seeing the other man's comrade tense he smirked cockily. The man sat back relaxed into the chair, when the other people broke their bottles to use those feeble glasses as weapon.

He raised his hands up, and alerted the team to not take any actions for now.

"Nagarajan ke baare mein kya janta hai tu?" he asked, and his mockery left only to be replaced with an intimidating glare. "Ladkiyon ko kahaan bechta hai tu?"

His glare was familiar to the rebel who tensed hearing the questionnaire, his voice and confidence belonged to the likes of cops. He was about the throw the table before him towards them, but the man was alert. Abhijeet struck both his hands down at the table preventing it from getting knocked up.

"Tujhe kya lagaa? Aisa pehli baar kisine kiya hoga? Tum sab ke sab ek jaise ho. Laude-baaj chutiye sab ke sab!" His companions drew out their guns; Abhijeet grabbed the edge of the table and knocked it off nearby, and came face to face with the man who just sat there.

Their companions froze realizing their guns were drawn at them. And a battle cannot be won with knives against guns. So, they dropped their weapons to the floor and backed away. The rebel was kept in bay, as Abhijeet circled him like a predator.

"Batayega ki C.I.D. ka jadooyi mantra aasmana padega mujhe?"

The word C.I.D. got his attention as the man who was still seating at the chair stared at him. But he was far away from fear, so Abhijeet slapped the back of his head which caused the man to slip from his seat. As soon as he was about to fall, he found an opportunity and dashed towards the window and threw himself outwards.

"Nikhil-Sachin! Bhago uske peeche," the men got into action as one chose the window to go out in tail, while other took the door. Both were exceptional runners so Abhijeet was confident he'll surely catch the culprit behind the racket. He was about to be punched but a gunshot from Purvi and a scream alerted him. A man rolled on the floor with his arms around his legs as his blood rushed out from his toe.

"Ye hai C.I.D. walon ka jadooi mantra, samjha?" He told the wailing man as he wore his glasses and went out, along with the female officers who followed him. The men fearfully grabbed the man and found their way out as the cops were gone after Niketan.

His sharp intuition was the most commendable trait in him, along with his sharp tongue which he usually complied on. He speaks like a man, and acts like a man; a man who could walk the walk and talk the talk. About sixteen years he surrendered to the job, and within those years he learned how the criminals think, which heightned his criminal psyche—in turn he catches criminals quite praiseworthily.

Which is why, he was better than his other half. He was better than Daya, and the entire bureau was aware of it.

ACP had no idea when he said, that his equalizer was few folds ahead of him in terms of maturity and detecting skills. Abhijeet didn't understood why Daya was angry at him, but he had the idea it was about his woman—his love life. So he concluded he was jealous. Well, it was not his fault that his friend was alone. Although he did cared for him like a brother, and like a family he supposedly tried to hook the man with few women, but that shy nature of his was a killer of personality. Daya was a good cop, a good man maybe, but not a good talker. He may talk intimidation, but soft-speaking was something he seriously lacked. That is what Abhijeet saw in his friend.

That is what made Daya to be alone, and it was not Abhijeet's fault.

But ACP rather curtly said, Daya was better in terms of abilities—it hurt his pride. If he must admit, he was rather aware of the fact, but he knew that was lie. Abhijeet's skills greatly exceeds his counterbalance, he was the brain—while Daya was the brawn. The large man would muscle his way into the Chkravyuh of crime and come out unscathed, but Abhijeet was the brain with deadly shooting skills—he was equally dangerous if not more lethal due to his mental capacity.

So when he heard the older man monotonous speech of how the other guy was better, he laughed bitterly. That was obviously, a lie.

It was a lie, or was it?

But he'd rather focus on the case beforehand and dwell on the Daya subject later. Hence, here they were near the beach, where the fishermen sheltered most of the time. Fredrick's informers somehow managed found their way into the gang that surveyed Nagarajan's heinous activities overseas via the large ocean. Some boats were quite big enough to hold few girls.

Niketan was supposedly the Charioteer, who knew the sea routes well, and if they catch him then they can shatter the whole debacle of the trafficking. He was sure that the bastard held few secrets. And, catching the murderer would be much easier if they knew the dead man's associates and hopefully destroy the racketing network.

Nagarajan's death created a chain of murders, and most of the dead people were criminals. Even though it looked like a work of sociopath, ACP was sure the killer won't back away from killing innocent people too. So, if they catch Nagarajan's killer then they may prevent from getting innocent people getting killed.

Like expected both men had apprehended the man who was breathing heavily on the floor as Sachin grabbed him by the hair and made him stand on his feet. Abhijeet saw his associate slapping him, to get the man's attention. But, the man had few fights left. The man kicked Sachin's stomach and wriggled out of his reached, but as he was about to dash. Nikhil tackled him to the muddy ground, as both wrestled to over power the other.

Within the defiant puches and agonizing kicks, Nikhil was somehow thrown off from him, but Sachin was quick to act. Sachin stomped on the fallen man, but his leg was grabbed and he fell down into the sopping floor. Both officers finally caught him by the arm and kept him in bay.

Abhijeet arrived casually, and slapped the man again. "Kya socha? Aise hi jane denge, abhi toh tumhari khatir daari hogi."

He slapped the man again seeing him struggle, "Bahut charbi hai tujhe nahi?"

"Sachin," the man man looked at him questioningly, as Abhijeet ordered, "Galaa dabao."

Abhijeet's companion hesitated, but eventually complied. Sachin locked his head in between his hands, one on his throat—blocking the wind pipe while the other kept his head from moving. As soon as the sleeper hold was applied, the man lost his facial color.

Abhijeet squatted to their level, "Ab tu jab tak nahi batayega tab tak tera gala aise hi dabta rahega. Aur tu mare ki bache isse humein kya?"

Sachin slowly put more pressure on the man's throat which was enough for him to stop his struggle. He waited for his senior inspector's order to stop which never came. He kept choking and choking, and the man finally succumbed to the darkness.

"Jaywanti, paani lake iske muh par pheko," Abhijeet sharply dictated, as he observed the unconscious man whilst grabbing his chin. He violently shook the man's unresponsiove face for a while. Their newer recruit complied, whom he found rather similar with his bitter rival, both in terms of physicality and partly their intellectual property their mind shared.

The young woman came no sooner, as she threw a handful of dirty water at his face, the water and an ear shattering slap made him aware of the surrounding. Sachin released his hold and got back to his circled the man who sat before a grimacing Abhijeet.

"Ab batayega ki phirse gala dabana padega?"

Niketan quietly stared, his face displayed emotions whatsoever—he just stared at him with narrowed eyes. He spoke calmy, "Agar kuch bulwana hai toh 3rd degree kar ke dekho saayad apna muh khol dun, aise thapad aur paani marne se mera kuch nahi hone wala!"

He sardonically laughed like a maniac who visibly disturbed Nikhil and both women. This made Abhijeet even more mad, as he grabbed the man's face and moshed it too the muddy floor. His temper from yesterday till now overwhelmed his usual thought process, so he dragged the laughing man's face back and forth.

Seeing their senior inspector losing his temper they sported worried glances at each other. After Daya's lashing the man was unusually snappy since yesterday. None of them forgot the time when the man and their ACP discussed on him not wishing to work on this case, just because he had to meet with Daya. The ego was tremendous between the two, and they were boring witness to a titanic clash. From friends to bitter rivals, they can't even entertain the idea of having two grumpy senior officers working together with a cool head.

Daya's rant on him having more experience than Abhijeet was probably the main factor of sealing him as a rival. It was not expected from a man who was a goody two shoes a week ago. Confused and distressed they followed were Abhijeet went, since Daya had Pankaj going along with him, and apparently Shreya was ordered by ACP to tag alone with them.

They had no idea how Daya acted towards the two, but Abhijeet appeared normal, although slightly trippy, and resented. Perhaps this was beyond their damaged friendship, perhaps the point was held by his girlfriend. They noticed Abhijeet had neither called Tarika, nor did the good woman have called him… yet.

"Dhet! Ruk teri chamdi na udhada toh mera naam bhi senior inspector Abhijeet nahi!" Abhijeet was getting madder by second, as he had evidently stopped his torture and resorted to plain violence. The good cop was stomping on the manic man's face. "Bataa kaun kaun hai tere saathi! Bataa bhosdike!"

They casted worried glances at each other, but the men didn't dare to counter him—but Purvi somehow managed a trifle amount of bravado, she said managing a composed tone, "Sir, humein usse bureau leke puch tach karni hogi."

Abhijeet stopped his barrage and turned his head tightly towards her to snap, but then he realized they had spectators. He closed his eyes, and massaged his tightened jaw, soon his hand reached up to his hair. He tightened his grip on his hair, and sighed frustrated. It was not necessary to lash out at someone who didn't deserve his unrelenting surge of ridiculed anger. Thus, he took few deep breaths and looked at the fallen man, whose shit eating grin and cough was making it even more difficult for him to breathe.

He wanted to kill the man right there.

"Nikhil usse uthao aur gaadi mein dalo," he disdainly spok, and he looked at the fallen man with the same despise, "Tujhe 3rd degree chahiye na? Chal, tujhe 4th-5th sab deta hoon madarchod!"

The man chuckled like a man. Irate and helpless Abhijeet turned his heels and walked out. Leaving his companions behind, he walked. Not questioning, Nikhil grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him off. He worked the cuffs on Niketan's wrists and shoved the man to walk. The ladies walked behind him, while Sachin walked slowly after them to notify ACP about it.

ACP had personally requested him to keep watch on Abhijeet; a short-tempered man like him could make mistakes.

The bureau means complcations—modus operandi, and of-course sentinence which Abhijeet didn't wished for this man to attain.

They were unaware of Abhijeet's plan.

A tactic which Daya woud so often exercise… He dismissed the thought, and carried on.

. . . .

_Sunday, _

_2:56 P.M._

It was absolutely exhasperating when there's a problem and someone is unwilling to comply to solve. Daya was angry as a bull belonging in the corrida de torros, the Spanish crazed violent animal. A simple question wished for a simple answer. Someone should translate those jabbering nonsense of words the murdered bodies were written with. The embassy's security was brutal, as they not just required the ID but also permission from their commanding officer.

Their Deputy Commisioner's request to the embassy's higher ranking officer. DCP Chitrole will probably dislike this idea of them bothering the embassy for these trivial words. And, Daya accusing the embassy for protecting a possible psychopath didn't do well for them.

He and his temper were surely obstructing their case to go smoothly. He pushed and he shoved, so did the guards thus they fought a losing battle when thosemen shattered his powerful ego of possessing tremendous physical strength. The powerhouse of C.I.D. was belittled by them, and that too in-front of Pankaj, who was bruised pretty badly in the little scuffle. Not that he blamed Daya for what happened, the sub-inspector was severly trifled by the behavior of those guards. Probably, the reason was they insulted them for being the local police. Even though they solve complex cases than the local, but still they were still counted as cops without uniforms.

Their ID was not enough, their rank was not enough, and obviously their accusation was not enough. And that made both men angry; the cocky nature of the guards infuriated them enough to lash out in fisticuffs.

The first thought that came to Daya was, '_What the fuck am I doing?'_

He was way past his prime, way past his naiveity, and certainly way past a rookie. He was a senior Inspector to cry out loud. His rationale mind was collapsing—surely, if he was commiting a threat to the every other officer before his eyes then something bad must be going through his head. And, the worst part is, despite his awereness he was giving in, to his temper, to his retortal—and to his hoplessness.

That snapped his inner turmoil, and then he followed his answers.

He grabbed a guard's oncoming punch with his open palm, and managed to disarm the arrogant bastard, instead of dislocating the shoulder, he threw the man to the ground and stepped back with his arms raised, making sure to look unthreatening, to unfuck the already messed up situation.

"Alright… alright! We stop right now." He spoke with little bit authority, in-front of the head of the security that stool tall and proud as him. Pankaj pulled back from a tug-o-war panting beside Daya who suddenly appeared calm. The head's posture exuded confidence, and his built marveled his strength, all this time he calmly watched the commotion without interjecting their little quarrel.

"Now we're talking. I hope you realized you've been acting juvenilely, Inspector Daya," his voice held no mockery, neither did it held contempt. He just blankly stated just like a soldier, absolute nothingness."Nonethless, I should make myself clear once again. You cannot barge into the embassy and accuse the citizens of being murderers. You must be aware of the procedures, don't you?"

Daya sighed not dejected but all his frustrations. He looked at the dark skinned tall man, who stared blankly at Pankaj as if observing the little man's bravado, "I apologize, but if you were willing to cooperate beforehand, and all this might not have happened."

"Are you blaming us for being uncooperative, while you men began a scuffle with our company?" He folded his arms before his chest, in an intimidating stance. He stood slightly taller than Daya who himself towered over most men surrounding them. The name tag remained slightly distorted for Daya to read, as his age has caught up not only to his mind but also his eyes. Although he chose not to wear glasses or lenses for the fact, he himself didn't approve to look like a geek.

"Look I already apologized, we just want someone to look at these letters and explain which country does it that's how we could be able to comprehend something on these serial murders," Daya walked up to the man and stood before the towering man, "Our procedures will take much longer than you realize who knows by that time, more bodies will drop."

The head quietly assessed the cop's ascertain claims; Daya did made a fairly silver-tongued point. So, the man looked at the files on Daya's hand, and asked, "May I take a look at that?"

"Only if you're willing to assist us, I must say we're not entirely suspicious of any of your citizens—we just want to know if there is, then I assure you… I will be back completing formalities, with all that you people require." Daya stared at the man, awaiting his retortal which didn't arise.

"Alright, you had me convinced, now may I?" He pointed at the file Daya held, and robotically the bundled papers were handed to the man in uniform.

He silently went through all the pictures starting from the place of murders to post-mortem, a snuff pictorals of two dead men. He skipped written details and focused on the words written on their bodies. Both Daya and his partner, the young man judiciously tried to discern his facial shock, which didn't appeared on the stoic man's face. How did he appear to be so dangerously calm looking at those atrocious pictures?

"This is Armenic," The man said. The inspectors shared glances at each other.

"Armenic?" Pankaj repeated, while Daya pondered about the possibilities of having an Armenian serial killer.

He showed both pictures of Harish and Satyajit, "Joker or jest, and another one is greed I think."

"That's it?" Pankaj exhaled noisily, all those frustrations finally came crashing on him, as he slouched his posture—defeated. He lent his blood in vain on the road for nothing. Joker and Greed, now whatever those words meant he didn't know. But, all he could now feel is pain on his jaw, which has bruised—so did his elbows in which he fell on. The throbbing was catching on to those places.

The man nodded, "That's what I'm afraid, sorry but all this proves nothing but a joke. The words can easily be translated online. You're in the wrong place Inspectors."

"But how people are obsessed with Armenia? I see many who are obsessed with few languages, but Armenic? Common! It's sort of unique for the people living the main-stream life," It was Pankaj who still believed the man belonged to the embassy. "There must be a man in here who knows Armenic!"

"I know Armenic, doesn't mean I killed these men, Inspector." The head of security argued.

"Who knows?" Daya countered,

"Then I believe you should bring papers for a thorough investigation—a court order would suffice."

"Is it? And you're willing to cooperate?"

The man nodded in approval, "I may as well give you information about the people who cross check Armenia." The head of security stood his full height before Daya. Their gazes locked, in challenge and to some certain extent, it was the respect they held for the other.

Or so would the by-stander believe.

For Daya it was a battle of superiority, the alpha never cowers, an alpha such like him shall not lower his gaze. That's what Abhijeet does… No.

He clenched his jaw, and dropped his gaze towards Pankaj instead. The last thing he wanted was to get angry for no reason and start a quarrel with these people.

"Gaadi nikalo, humein bureau waapas chalna hoga." The short young man nodded, and quickly made out of their vision. By the the time he was completely out of sight, Daya asked the man's number in case further enquiry is needed.

"Be careful Inspector," Daya stopped dead on his tracks. "You may possibly be searching for something far more diabolic than you see."

Paying no heed to the warning the giant strode away. A soldier has no right to tell him what to think or not, they did not know how much complication they go through in Crime Branch. Not just simply killing, and saving lives. They had given the consent to listen to their conscience and not blind orders.

Pankaj had made a U-turn and parked it near Daya who entered the passenger seat, "Bureau kyun sir?"

"Time kitna hua hai?"

His companion flabberastedly replied, "Teen bajkar chalees minute sir,"

"Ab tak sayad dusre team ko kuch pataa chala hoga, Nagarajan ke trafficking ke baare mein. Agar Nagarajan ka koi dusman hoga sayad usne ye khoon kiya hoga, aur baaki ke maut ek coincidence hoga. Ye serial killer ka drama kuch palle nahi pad raha."

"Kuch samjha nahi sir."

"Nagarajan ke laash pe kuch likha nahi tha, ho sakta hai, ye murders related hi na ho. HO sakta hai, ki hum iss chakar mein ghumte rahe ki Nagarajan ko kisi serial killer ne mara ho, par asli khooni kahin aur hoga. Ho sakta hai ki ye do murders ek serial ne ki ho, par Nagarajan ko kisi aur ne mara hai."

Pankaj silently ate up those words, and it was making sense to him—maybe.

. . . .

_Sunday_

_ 8:47 P.M_

Arjun had memory lapses, and it was slowly eating up his ability to draw or paint. As a kid he had a penchant to create simple objects which turned into a hobby. His brother-in-law's friend hired him to color whatever they were instructed, it didn't paid him a handsome money, but enough for him to get a few bottles of beer a day. And his sister didn't have to know.

His brother-in-law worked as a security consultant at a bar, and was a personal bodyguard to the owner. He had seen the place, known the people around and had been there for few times in the working hours of the bar. Although he must be honest, it was not as good as it looks on TV or movies. People sweat, the heat was always off the roof—due to the crowd, rude women and drunken men—that was how the clubs were. He did partook as a bouncer, that he remembers but the next day his brother-in-law told him he found another job for him. His favorite job—an obvious choice, as a painter.

He must say if he could speak, it was rather good. Few hours of coloring here and there, postering few things and voila… his day was over.

But, the night was quite difficult—the strange creature he sees overnight—the warped faces… all glimpses which comes and goes whenever it. They grin at his expense, at his incapability—even though he had proved time and time again. Despite the silence, despite the unrelenting emotional trauma he could live—and live moderately happy.

He was an artist after-all. And don't they all have learned to breathe?

The mixing of those petulant dyes, a fine specimen he could create in a canvas. Red… all red—his favorite color.

Every night he was covered in a salty reddish color, which he profoundly believed as a result of art. His memory was blurry, but he could see a modern art or somesort. His brain was switching off every now and then, and whenever it did. He somewhat felt energetic, less fatigued—not that he could ever achieve a level of fatigue but he felt good. So ecstatic feeling the raging blood within, so gleeful after realizing he had architated something out of the blue in a blackout.

He saw a man approaching him, and in turn Arjun smiled broadly at him which the man returned. He was much older than him, but his age was deceptive—he looked about 28 when he was eight years over that. He swayed the package he held in his hands, and waved at him.

Arjun strolled quickly towards him, and he was rewarded with that package.

This man always brought something for him to eat; he didn't know what it was. But without judging he chomped it down… he was not hungry, he didn't feel hunger. But this euphoric feeling was so overwhelming that he fell back unto the ground. He even dragged whatever that was inside his nose—and it electrified his brain, the goosebump stimulated all his muscles and he was suddenly aware of the wind. His muscles tightened in a vice like clutch, and the strength underneath those layers blasted an arousing power. His pupils amplified, and he could swear the warped faces came unto existence.

It waved his fingers around his face.

Sometimes those warped faces become an altered nightmare.

. . . .

_Sunday_

_1:46 P.M._

Finally the Crime Branch had something worthy to clear few doubts. And yes, unfortunately—they were working against a work of a psychopath. It was about 2 o'clock when they found three more bodies. Pradyumann personally visited the morgue to examine the bodies. Luckily, Salunkhe had his knowledge all over the files. Rather strange and weird enough, his hands all over it.

The old man shuddered, successfully dismissing the visual that was about to hit him.

But the illustrative embodiment of two bodies was too overwhelming. They knelt before each other, hands hanging—knotted to the rope to keep them floating. The skin from their back was wholly removed… erased partially from both sides and it presented the bodies having wings. The bones were visible; the wings were pierced into thin parched wires.

One was painted black and the other white; it was clearly a statement indicating the existence of an angel and the devil. Pradyumann knew the twisted world vividly; he was familiar to God, to the evil and to the good. As he embraced the betterment; he neither forgot the ugliness nor the malice of mankind. The old man had lived through all.

"Ye aadmi…" Salunkhe's voice brough him back from his quiet musing, "… iska na koi crime record hai, aur na hi koi naam. Boss, mujhe afshos ke saath ye kehna hoga, ki ye— humari ab tak ki sabse badi evidence hogi."

"Kya evidence?" Pradyumann asked. Behind him both Shreya and Ishita stood, farther from the bodies.

"Evidence ki iss baar ye khooni apna status badal raha hai."

"Kya matlab,"

"Matlab ki ye boss, ye aadmi ek innocent tha."

Silence befalls upon the room. ACP had to take few deep breaths. His fear was turning its heel into reality, he hoped the man not to kill anyone. But here the murderer's vigilanteism was getting vindictive. The thing about vigilante was it doesn't take long enough for them to unlock a God complex, which mayhap the killer was suffering through.

The question still remains, how were they going to catch the killer? When the eye witnesses die right after seeing him/her?

The third victim was visibly not amongst the angels or the devil. He laid few meters away, with dismembered facial parts—and disemboweled entrails which he used as a makeshift garland for the criminals. It was getting more violent, in an artistic way—if that is what the killer is wondering then he is very much mistaken. He could play God all he wants but when they get their hands on him—he'll probably hang six feet over the ground.

Pradyumann's jaw tightened and his grimaced left a permanent wrinkle over his brows. He began waving his fingers and spoke to himself, "Ye… khooni, iska kya makhsat hai—saabit kya karna chahta hai ye?"

"Dekho boss, mujhe toh itna maloom hai ki ye khooni apna dimaag kahin kho chukka hai."

"Eise exhibition karke ye kya darsana chahta hai…" Pradyumann still kept musing much to the doctor's dismay, that he was not paying attention to him.

"Ek kaam karo ACP, apne office jao, ek cup chai mangvao us Pankaj se… biscuit bhi mangvana, aur apne AC on karke socho."

"Arey yaar teri problem kya hai? Sochne de na mujhe."

"Tum yahaan ruk kar meri soch gum kar rahe ho." And they quarreled verbally.

Shreya who was watching the men exchange few notes of criminology within the verbal albeit funny disputes, shared a glance at her silent spectator—Ishita. She was a girl of few words; hardly anything came out of mouth other then few _yeses _and _nos'_. Young and pretty, often Shreya wondered if their agency was turning into a fashion house. She won't deny but the vibe was there, and the motivation seeped out from Purvi. It was like a plague, when they hung around the make up in the washroom more than the job in hand.

Not that she hated it, or hated Purvi. But there were cases where seriousness lacked on the woman team. Shreya was thirty two by now, perhaps the oldest among the women officers. Her experience towered over them, even though she disliked being in the spot light—she wished the women should pay attention to her senority over than Purvi's. Everyone loved her, both out of respect and for her glamorous fiesta on job. The mascara laced, plum lipped—slender lady was a close friend to her.

But, best-friend she was not. Friend in the sense—she was her colleague first and foremost; her job was to have her back in dire circumstances and Shreya has proven time and time again, that she had. But, she desired little more than staying in the tag of a sub-inspector. She wants a raise, and for that she needs promotion.

That is where it gets tricky. Promotion will probably lead her to transfer which she didn't wish. These officers were the closest people she could call a family. Yet, she desired more—an inspector rank to school these young ladies, since it was necessary to put more time in solving cases instead of applying eye liners in the job.

The office was surely in turmoil after their elite officers were having troubles coping with their counterparts. Shetty sir, as usual, the callous and quiet bastard in the precinct remained in the background looking for a little glory once in a while. She did emphathize his thought process, staying alone for most part of his life, and the last thing he had was the job, which was also taken from him—a little appreciation.

Dear God, his life was the same as her. Both had seniority yet the younger gets more applaude from others. Purvi and Abhijeet, while her and Daya sir. As much as files can prove, she had read about Daya out of curiousity—fascinating man—perhaps a little gloomy whenever he was alone. Probably the loneliness makes him a better man in the job. He attends more cases every year, doesn't take much breaks or vacations unlike the other counterpart. The man spends much more time in the office, and was possibly the last man to go home.

But Purvi was a sister to her, despite the slight arrogance which she potrayed before Shreya, the pictured was not bad for her unlike the senior officers who had been spewing venoms out of their mouth. She wondered from where the contempt arrived from—the beginning of it all.

Partly, she could blame the wave of attraction in the office. And there was nothing she could do about it.

"Ye aadmi, abhi tak iski identification nahi hui hai?" She heard the ACP ask before her, and her eyes snapped open—as if she had been caught in her wonderment.

Perhaps that was what wrong with their precinct.

Luckily, the question was aimed at the good doctor who answered, "Nahi—abhi kuch doh ghante pehle hi inki laash mili hai. Uun dono main se do ki identification nahi hui hai. Pehla waala ek smuggler hai, aur saayad dusra wala uska saathi hoga. Par teesra wala…"

"Teesra wala kya?" ACP vocally grumbled in annoyance.

"Mujhe lagta hai, ye teesra wala aise hi involve ho gaya, saayad ye aadmi ne khoon hote waqt khooni ko dekha hoga."

"Aur sir ye laash bhi isolated area se baraamat ki gayi thi… baki ke time, khooni publicly exhibit karta tha. Lekin iss baar usne inhe itne door jaakar… kyun?" Shreya would not lie she was surprised hearing Ishita speak.

ACP raised an eyebrow, the slight humor in the situation made the doctor crinkle his dyed mustache in a monotonous smile. So, Shreya folded her arms before her chest and eyed the young woman. After, a slight uncomfortable yet tense seconds ACP turned towards the doctor.

"Khoon kitne baje hua tha Salunkhe?"

"Ab se lag bhag 15 ya 16 ghante pehle."

"Matlab 12 se 1 baje ke beech?" The doctor nodded, "Khooni ne zaroor kisi gaadi ka istamaal ki hogi…"

The good doctor interrupted, "Teesre wale ka khoon in dono ke marne ke lag bhag 2 ghante baad hui hai."

Pradyuman muttered a curse, and adopted a momentary silence, "Isse ye toh maloom hota hai, ye aadmi us jagaah pe maujood tha."

Salunkhe rolled his eyes, "Wahi toh kab se bol raha hoon tumhe!"

Ignoring Salunkhe, Pradyuman walked out of the room followed by a confused Ishita, and a slightly agitated Shreya.

"Ab ye Tarika kahaan chali gayi?" She heard the surgical doctor grumble.

. . . .

_Sunday_

_4:54 P.M._

About an hour and a half later Daya and his partner met ACP at their office. Pradyuman was staring pensively at his name plate which was before him. Behind them stood Shreya, who was copying the same expression the old man held. Whether that was humor—sarcasm or something else, Pankaj had no idea; but he could entertain himself.

He grinned.

"Kya kisine joke kaha yahaan pe Pankaj?" the old man's biting remark shook him, so he lost the grin. "Do you understand the situation we're in?"

He remained quiet, and slumped downward into the moving chair his face express disheartened, "Har roz laasheing badhti jaa rahi hai, aur humein is khooni ke baare mein kuch bhi pataa nahi chala hai!"

ACP tapped his calloused index finger on the table, and the noise it made was loud in the quiet room. Pankaj stole a glance at the senior Inspector who blankly observed the old man's temper which finally reached the old man's head. And ACP snapped, "Hadh hoti hai ye mazaak ki bhi. Tumhari wazah se hi bureau ka naam kharab ho rahi hai!"

Pankaj dropped his gaze to the table, "…pure bureau ko mazaak bana ke rakha hai tumne!"

Shreya stole and uncomfortable glance at the jovial man whose shoulder slumped defeated. Although, she felt sorry—she had no words to interrupt the senior most officer in the office. So, she slightly shook her head, and eyed the tall strange man—who remained quiet and composed with no sign of agitation or retortal.

"Aur tum Daya…" Hearing the man's name Shreya paid more attention,"… kya zaroorat thi Embassy mein jaakar hatha-pai karne ki?"

Shreya was not aware of this, she was not aware of many things about the office so this was not surprising. The trio held more respect for the other, which they usually cared less to share with anyone but them. Of-course while they got back to the office, the DCP had called the old man; and from that time onwards he was pissed off.

Hell when wasn't he angry?

"Pataa hai, agar ye khabar bahar aa gayi toh kitna bawaal hoga? Kya soch kar tum wahaan gaye the?"

"Unke sareer par Armenic likhi gayi hai." Daya countered calmly.

ACP considered that as an excuse, "Armenic hua to kya?"

"Armenic hua toh ye sir, ki saayad khooni ke baare kuch pataa chalta embassy pe. Isilie gaya tha wahaan pe." The slight edge on his voice went ignored by ACP.

And unfortunately, ACP's rebuttal did not go overboard by any, "Aur jaake haatha pai kar aye nahi? Saabaash!"

Shreya was wondering where Pankaj got those slight bruises from, and now she could picture the scuffle on her mind.

"…Saq karne mein koi harz nahi hai Daya, par tumne ek aur musibat apne sar pe odhli hai." The older man stood up to his feet, and walked towards his usual thoughtful place, near the window and stared down the building. "Tumhe office akar permission leke jana chahiyetha"

Daya's temper was rising, "Kis baat ki permission sir? Baat karne ki? Hum ye soch kar nahi gaye ki wahaan pe hummein khooni milega! Hummein ye jaanna tha ki uun dono ki sareer pe kya likha gaya tha. Ho sakta hai ye khooni kuch darsaana chahta hai unke sareer pe likh ke."

"Toh kuch fayeda hua wahaan jaake? Agar doh sabd ke liye tumne embassy pe jaake bawaal khada kardiya, toh age iss case mein tumhara kya hoga!" ACP yelled, and by each passing second, Shreya could feel few eyes on her back. Not many officers were there at the bureau except for Ishita, Freddy, Vansh and Divya also few constables. Another team was out investigating about Nagarajan's trafficking case.

ACP's lash shut the large man quiet. Daya closed his eyes, and took deep breaths to calm his breath. It was his very temper that was taking him down the path where he had never been before. Fury was finally affecting his usual thought process—he was getting snappy and overtly forcible. This past week was he had gotten more into fights with strangers than common criminals. The day when he fought Abhijeet was the nail, as he when he got near the man's face; he wished to punch his face black and blue.

That was no rational thought, it never was. Violence won't solve a thing, especially if a man in his fourties that was living an envious life. Daya was beyond adolescent, and he— acting physical against intellectual intentions will probably paint him a bad picture. He must maintain his silence; he must live through his anger.

In the spur of moment, none of them saw when Abhijeet barged into the room. He stood farther away from Daya, and eyed him with subtle wariness. Although, he nodded towards the giant before he turned towards ACP.

"Kuch pataa chala Abhijeet?" the older man asked, his voice still holding a heavy resentment—which Abhijeet ignored as he spoke,

"Ji sir, uske workers se humne kuch naam baraamat ki hai. Uske jaan pahchan mein bahot saare log hai, jyada tar south se hai aur deals bhi jyadatar south mein hi hota hai, par haan ye bhi hai ki lag bagh har jagah pe inhone apna network set karliya hai…" Abhijeet exhaled a dramatic depressed breath, and resumed, "…east mein Odisha, Bengal aur Jharkhand—North mein Haryana, Punjab ke kuch area mein aur UP mein bhi…"

ACP interrupted him, "Aur ladkiyaan? Ye log kahaan se unhe uthate the?"

The question got everyone's attention, especially Shreya—who was raging within. Her genuine wishes were that she must murder the bastard herself. The despicable nature of these men—no they aren't men, animals—hell animals do share some empathy towards few but these men do not. These fucking alien of men did not deserve to live, and neither do those people who trade or buy those innocent girls.

Abhijeet closed his eyes and sighed deeply—soon he pinched the bridge of his nose, as looked at everyone in the room. He traded glances at ACP and the window pane and began speaking tardily, "…Jyadatar ladkiyaan abandoned, ya phir kaam ke talaash mein hote hai. Gaaon se ye sab kaam ke talaash mein aatein hai. Aur Nagarajan badi hi chalaaki se inhe confuse karleta tha, jisse ye apne aap ye kaam karne ko raazi ho jaati thi…"

The older man's forehead displayed the veins as he clenched his jaws—grinding, he wanted to break things. But this unrelenting surge of wrath never had any desired effect on his mind. So he sucked it up, and grimaced. Abhijeet continued morosely, "…Pesse se doctor, Nagarajan ke baare mein ye toh pataa chala ki woh psychologist tha, aur har waqt patients ke alawa akele rehta tha. Tamil Nadu ke police department se ye pataa chala ki woh kabhi kabhar free mein practice karta—aur free mein jyadatar ye ladkiyon se hi baat karta tha."

"…free… yaani, gaaon ya chote sehro se ane wale ladkiyaan?" Daya asked to which Abhijeet nodded. "Aur, iski supply sirf Tamil Nadu se toh nahi rahi hogi?"

Abhijeet answered, "Jyadatar south se thi par usne apna hath har states mein phelai rakhi thi."

"Bechari ladkiyaan… kaise kaise halaton ka samna karna pada hoga unhe…" Pradyumann grumbled for few seconds then asked, "… acha toh phir, kuch pataa chala iske kisi dushman ke baare mein?"

Abhijeet shook his head dismally, "Dushman toh bahut hai sir uske. Par kisi ki bhi himmat nahi thi isse ladai karne ki. Iski pahonch bahut lambi thi… mujhe lagta hai ki, ye serial killer… he coincidentally murdered this bastard."

"He deserved to die." Shreya mumbled as a thought—and it was saw Daya slightly turn towards but soon he called a question towards Abhijeet.

"Unme se Armenia ko kuch connect karta hai?" He asked as he leaned back into the chair.

Abhijeet stared at him; quite disbelieved that this bearded man still has not mended what transpired between them. The rift was converting into a giant unfathomable abyss of silence and fleets of rage were slowly brewing up within it. There may come a time, when it'll turn into molten lava and blow up their entire thought process. Abhijeet had anger issues; he won't deny it—long before Tarika made into his life, and he was nothing more than a badass cop with a gun.

She mellowed him, so did the time—he matured into become a better man than a cop. She needed and deserved to know him as a man more than a righteous policeman. He won't deny he somewhat considered Daya in the trio consisting of his love.

He sincerely wished Daya to have a woman in his life; it was depressing to see him mop—well he didn't necessarily mopped, he seemed mute most of the time. As if he did not wish to remain as a friend since the beginning. Abhijeet was not aware, but now he is. This man whom he considered a friend does not want to remain in his circle.

So be it.

He can be professional, "Purvi list teyar kar rahi hai Interpol ko dene ke liye, tumhe chahiye toh uski copy tumhe dene ke liye usse keh dunga."

Daya simply nodded his head and scratched his beard for a second as he looked back at ACP with narrowed eyes. The old man wondered that the men will work hand in hand, but observing them now it seems debatable. Neither cared much about the other, a professional line has been drawn. Now, Daya will remain alone for the rest of his days, and Abhijeet will probably be swarmed by Tarika and her alone.

The best way is to provide them with buttload of work, to keep their sanity intact by giving them individual work. To keep them away from going at each other's throat. That ego, which both of them maintained, may eat both of their ailities to know what's right and wrong. They may fight once more, and God forbid, if that happens then both might not share the same conscience to hold back.

The old man does not pray, but he could hope that both men will depend on that conscience. Else their team would implode. Perhaps he shouldn't have divided the team—it gives the juniors to observe—study and understand and choose their favorites. And he already knew who have chosen whom to side with. He cannot entertain the idea of favoritism.

But it was necessary; there were so many officers under his wings, that he is not capable of handling them alone. The pressure from DCP, media and the stacking of files had already taken their toll on his subconscious ability to understand many things.

Often he found himself repeating what the other person has said. His hands were now twitchy and his service weapon was getting heavier every year for his hands to hold, and his vision was slowly detereoting but his sense of hearing was still better than ever. As far as he was concerned his tenure was coming to an end. It was not easy climbing the ladder, through those promotions. Perhaps he should accept next time.

He realized he had spaced out, so he brought back his infamouse grimace and dismissed everyone except Daya and Abhijeet. The raven haired woman glanced back worriedly one last time after Pankaj strutted quietly towards Fredricks. He had not uttered a single word after he was partnered with the senior inspector.

She was wondering what he had learnt or heard from the senior inspector, envious that she hardly ever did any field work unless there were women involved in that case. As desperate as she was to rise above the ranks to dismantle the patriarchal system, she couldn't do much— not until A.C.P, is impressed enough to consider her for a recommendation to higher officials. She could handle complicated cases just as much as every other male officers, she had the experience that speaks; her charms and strength. Long before she chose to be in the Crime Branch she worked as a local police, about 5 most violent cases had she solved all by herself. Her facts were written in blood, as she had not only bled during cuffing perpetrators but also she had shot few criminals on her own.

ACP on the other hand, cared less about his deterioting health as he glared at both men. Daya was looking homeless with his graying beard and dyeless hair, while Abhijeet dressed to impress. If personality could speak, Daya looked much more intimidating with his new appearance. Abhijeet was sharp, possessed a cunning tongue and had a stable hand to hold his weapon.

But intimidation was not the only thing Daya sustained, the looks were rather deceiving. Beneath all that mould of fats, was an athlete—who held tremendous strength, speed and an ingenious brain. He may not be a sharp shooter but his skills were not novice. Like he had stated a fact, he had taken much more bullets than Abhijeet—he still stood tall with those scars. If the old man could read spirits, then this man preserved a fighting one, while the counterpart was wittier. And, their office depended on their stability, if one stumbles then the whole mountain will come down.

It was breaking.

"Tum dono ke beech sulah kab hoga?" Pradyuman gnarled with slight revolt, and when he saw Daya open his mouth he raised his fingers and motioned him to shut up, "Dekho tumhare beech job hi hai, mera kuch lena dena nahin hai. Par sare department mein yehi baat chal rahi ki C.I.D. toot rahi hai! Kya ye main sach maan lu?"

They didn't shared a glance, just stared—one with curiousity and another with indifference and that angered the ACP even more.

"Athra saal se iss bureau ko sambhaal ke rakha hai, kya tum dono ke wajeh main isse tootne dun!" Frustrated he slammed his hands on the table which shook violently. The empty vessel which enfolded few drops of water tumbled and fell on the floor. None of them bothered to look down; both men stared at the older man. "Tum dono saabit kya karna chahte ho?"

"General perspective," Daya fairly spoke, his voice deep like an electrified grumble.

"Kya matlab?" Abhijeet chose to counter; he was just as much irked by the man's whole change in attitude. He was being rude, and brash—definitive cracked. Abhijeet found a new found disgust—no, it was not disgust just concern. Mental status was currently readable from Daya, his eyes displayed blankness, and mouth spoke less.

"Matlab, hummein abhi kaam par jyada dhyaan dena chahiye, naa ki kisi ke personal…"

ACP bellowed again, "Kya personal? This is pathetic Daya! Agar tum Abhijeet ke private life ko leke jal rahe ho…"

"Wait a minute sir, main isse bhala kyun jaloon? Aap humesa cheeze personal hi kyun soch te hai? Pyaar, aur uske baare mein sochna hi zindagi nahi hoti sir. If you really think of me as a mopping man, who is envious of another man's love life, then you are greatly mistaken."

"Jalan nahin toh aur kya hai? Tum toh mujhse baat bhi nahin kar rahe," Abhijeet countered.

"Arey tum kya meri biwi ho kya, jo sirf tumse hi baat karta rahoon? Kamaal ki baat kar rahe ho, Abhijeet." Daya rubbed the thickening beard, and sighed as he looked at the older man before him, "Dekho aap log jo kuch bhi soch rahe hai mere baare usse bhool jaiye, aur kaam pe dhyaan dijiye,"

"Tum sikhaoge kaam karna hummein?" Abhijeet scowled as he got near Daya's face for a stare-off. "Jo aadmi jyadatar haatha pae par zor deta hai, woh hummein sikhayega?"

"Aur jo aadmi kaam se jyada apne ghar basane ki baat soch ta hai, woh toh mujhe apna kaam karna na sikhaye toh behtar hogaa."

"Dekha sir, iske dimaag sirf ussi mein dubba rehta hai? Jalna tumhe sobha nahi deta, Daya."

Daya rolled his eyes at the retortal, "Sir, burra mat maniyega par ye sab karke aap kya jataana chahte hai? Kuchi waqt pehle hi aap ache lecture de rahe the case ke baare, phir ab achanak se Abhijeet deal kahaan se aagaya?"

"Kyun ki, tumhara dhyan sachi mein case pe nahi, balki tumhare akelepan par hai." ACP dismissed venomously.

"Aap agar aise hi baat baat par mere akelepan ko ghasitna chahte hai, toh usse toh hona hi hai." Calmly yet came a rude dismissal. Daya unconsciously was making things much more complicated not only for himself, but also the man standing near him.

"Zabaan sambhal ke Daya!" Abhijeet roared, and raised his fist to punch the man unconscious, but the tall man grabbed it. He fumed anger with new found disgust, not only the large man was disrespecting him, but also their father figure ACP.

"Haath sambhal ke Abhijeet." There was certain edge to his voice, with slight agitation. And Abhijeet's stiffening his muscles of other arm conveyed one message rather obviously. Both wanted a fight.

As if time seems to stumble and fall to black hole quietness; every single personel in the building were holding their breaths. The argument was not only audible but also transparent to them, as they saw their respective senior inspector's infamous ire. Daya grimaced down at Abhijeet then every second was getting more tempting for an impending assail.

"Ho kya raha hai yahaan pe?" The voice was familiar, and so was the person. Unfortunately, it did not belonged to the most favorable person—Chitrole.

"Ye ho kya raha hai, iss office pe?" he barged through the doors mechanically, and got near Daya's face. He glared back at ACP who studied him with narrowed eyes, "Itna chut dene ka natija dekh rahe ho, ACP?"

Both men walked farther away from each other, still glaring daggers. They heard their respective senior officer reply, "Maine kuch chut nahi di hai,"

Hearing an answer which contradicted the whole statement DCP shook his head in disbelief, he stared bedazzled with mouth agape, and he chose to clear things up, "Tumhe pata hai main yahaan kyun aaya tha?"

"Kyun?" curtly asked his old rival.

"Report aya ki, ek bin uniform ke inspector ne jam kar pitae ki kisi machware ki. Woh kisi gang mein involved tha, toh information ke liye usne uske, bas doh-teen pashliya, 4 ungliyaan aur chamdi udheda hai." Abhijeet remained calm despite being closer to the source of punctual awareness of his deeds. Ofcourse if anybody in the world knew what officers had done bad—especially if this CID team has done something bad, then Chitrole will surely show up to wound them. But, Abhijeet hasn't done anything wrong. Daya did by assaulting the embassy, and apparently the old man was not aware of that.

"Bin uniform ke officers sirf humare nahin hai, sir."

"Sure, par kitne bin uniform mein suit boot pehne hue, sawle rang ke officers hai crime branch mein?"

ACP glanced towards Abhijeet who stared right at him, so he asked his old rival for a clarification, "Aap kiski baat kar rahe hai sir?"

. . . .

_Sunday_

_5:54 P.M._

About an hour later following longing debate, and disputed countenance—by the time DCP went back to his office; both senior inspectors shared a sour face as they came out from ACP's chamber. They shared a last bitter glance, and without waiting any further, Daya was met by his temporary companion Pankaj, behind the short man stood Shreya with her hands on her hips.

"Sir! Ek jabardasth khabar mila hai!" His exuberance was somehow contagious, and the stoic man mellowed, but the sourness had not left him.

"Better be good, Pankaj, aur mood kharab mat karna mera." It was a legit warning—and the young man gulped a nervous spit, he wished to say they had another partner with them, Shreya. But he deliberately chose an enroute unto it.

"Possible killer, sir…" Shreya spoke vapidly to which Daya raised an eye brow, and waited for her continuance—she abided "Us club ke paas ek ATM tha jisme se yeh footage mila hai."

Pankaj hurriedly took out his phone, and played a video file. Daya observed the file was shorter than average, it was not rocket science to understand why it was done. Not minding few unnecessary glitches and tweaks, Daya looked on—and then he saw a man, as it was dark and the camera was far the face was obscured. Nevertheless the man's lean stature and the violent curly hair were still visible.

"Ye computer pe chalaya hai?" now he was looking at her, and under his blank stare she felt slightly uneasy—tensed. Shreya nodded nonetheless, and walked towards a PC in her cabin followed by both men.

Ishita sat behind the glass visor, playing cards but hurriedly closed the window as she saw them approach. She was the one that played the video few minutes prior—it was before half-an-hour, and since none dared to disturb the senior officers argument they stayed behind. Sachin and Nikhil were at a hospital were apparently their perpetrator was admitted to—thanks to Abhijeet's unconventional method of retrieving information.

She heard the tall man ask, "Ye video kisne bheja?"

"Kisi sub-inspector Rajvir, Vikhroli chawkey se." Shreya tried to catch his eye, but the man was staring at the screen by now expecting the young woman to play the video.

"Acha." Without waiting for an order Ishita played the video from the beginning. Pankaj stood behind still feeling envious that Rajvir got the first clue despite of him taking the copies footage… wait a minute, perhaps they had hidden it.

Three of them just looked.

Even in big screen the face was obscured, but the color red was like a body suit to him. He was covered in blood from head to toe. The most disturbing facet was he looked serene, no sign of fear—the fear of being found. Although he kept looking everywhere, but it looked like he was mocking someone. He swung his fist intervally—and that confused Daya even more. He neither appeared nor acted anywhere intelligent, just an average drunkard or mentally downcasted.

The lean man sat crosslegged in the middle of the road with his back towards the camera—as if meditating his posture was relaxed. He stared up at the blackened sky, and began slightly shaking his head.

Alright Shreya and Ishita both won't deny the fact they have not seen the whole video, they just fast forwarded until the man walked away from the scene. Neither ladies will not deny the slight creep of sweat that made it unto their forehead; it was an unsettling video for some reason. An unearthly scare erupted deep within their brain, although Shreya concealed the anxiousness perfectly on the other hand, Ishita's eyes were wide.

The man performed an act so alarming, and horrifying that it gave the impression of demonic possession, or what may most of them believe to be something that does not exist. The curly haired—suspect began pulling his hair and his shaking became more violent. It was practically and naturally impossible to shake head so fast without knocking himself out. Yet the man suddenly stopped—got back to his feet and dashed elsewhere.

Daya quietly forwarded few more times and saw nothing, and so he replayed the video again. A sense of dreadfulness commenced upon his brain. And somehow he found himself imagining his physical body to be their, in-front of the camera. He observed the disturbing behavior—yet payed more attention to the quiet surrounding.

A slight blurred image caught his attention.

"He was not alone," he spoke alerting the group to pay attention to him. He rudely ordered Ishita, "Move."

She hurriedly left the chair and allowed him to sit. Daya replayed the video again, and this time paused at about 3 minutes prior to the man shaking his head. There was a shadowy figure standing afar. The shadow caught Ishita's frightful attention, and by then she had already presumed something supernatural was involved in this. Pankaj who wanted in unfortunately had to stay behind, it was already crowded with those three—unfortunately his phone cannot display that shadow which Daya just caught.

Ishita feared that the stoic inspector will surely laugh or counter her with his usual dismissal or worse with rudeness. She didn't deserve to be pushed or shoved as a laughing stock; they already had a joker in their group which made her wonder what kind of officer he was. Pankaj was not a good officer, neither was she—but she could at-least counter a debate if anybody compared them. The young man had experience, however those weren't that bright.

He was a sissy, an unwitting pussy, a miserable goof—with an unhealthy obsession with food. It was a fact, she neither respected or cared about him. She wondered why he was even relevant with this team. Elite officers as people said, but there was nothing elite about him.

Daya carefully froze the video, and got off from the seat and allowed them to look intently at the screen. Pankaj was the last one to see.

The shadow moved from left to right—and shot elsewhere, perhaps the man ran after him. If that is it, then the shadow of whoever was that was in serious threat or perhaps he was already dead—yet to be found.

"Chalo chalte hai, sayad wahaan jaane ke baad kuch aur pataa chale." Both women moved out of the way, as he strolled towards the exit, followed by Pankaj. Shreya contemplated few more seconds before joggin towards them.

Daya turned back and saw her approaching so he slowed down. "Haan, sir ne kaha tum chal rahi ho humare saath?"

She dumbly nodded, here she thought she was supposed to ask for permission but Daya surprised her again. Perhaps the only good thing he had done since last two days. He didn't say another word and got away fast. His silhouette was still visible to ACP, who shook his head disappointed. His gaze fell upon the hardened face of Abhijeet who was still furious at DCP for taunting him.

He won't be surprised if he fucks shit up, all over nostalgic, like he normally did when he joined the Crime Branch. He had the shortest fuse amongst them. Perhaps Chitrole was right, he was letting them go loose, and when they are behaving like children maybe he should become more like principal.

His gaze fell upon Ishita whose acidic eyes were boring into Pankaj's back. Dear God, the whole office was getting bitter and hostile. Nikhil did not like working with Sachin and vice-versa. Although, Freddy liked to work with anyone but the thing was he felt discomforted by the people around him as most of them looked down on him. Jaywanti was the youngest; perhaps she was the only neutral person in the office—not long since the hostility may rub up on her as well.

He should clean up fast—act faster to solve every tiny issue, before their family collapses unto an untidy gump of washed up cranky officers. ACP got up from his chair, and got near his door.

Ishita saw the old man and found his focused—albeit blank face on her. He nodded towards her, and got back towards his chair. And the young woman jogged nervously towards his cabin—by the looks of it—he wasn't in the mood for a calm meeting.

. . . .

_Saturday_

_9:18 P.M._

Two men sat across from the other, with a glass of cheap alcohol expressing the contained night. The bald man silently eyed a woman—with no sign of lecherous intent—he just stared at her face as if admiring unnoticeable yet in an innocent way. The lady was not aware of the attention; she just kept reading a book which he paid no interest to.

"Chal baahar chal," along came a deep sludgy voice from him as he got up and walked out from the house. His companion simply followed without asking any question.

"Kahaan chal diye?" the woman asked without taking off her eyes from the book.

The gentleman simply said, "Doodh lane ke liye,"

Out from her ear shot he began, "Tu jo kar rahe ho kya sahi hai?"

His companion a dark haired middle-aged man took an unlit cigarette from his rear pocket and burned the thick article. As he took a drag he looked behind towards the house one final time only to turn back at his only friend—his crime partner.

"Kya sahi hai aur kya galat, ye aadmi ke upar depend karta hai, Vajra" His bald head companion grimly studied the thick mist engulfing his companion's face. "Ek billi ki sahi ek chuhe ki galati hoti hai."

"Haan, par us ladke mein aur sambhal ne ki taaqat nahi hai… he's having seizures."

Yet the man not perturbed as he took another drag and walked forward with his companion beside him. "Uski kaabiliyat kaabile tareef hai, Vajra, aur kisi mein himat nahi thi uus drug ko ishtamal karne ki."

"Yahi toh baat hai, usne ishtamal hi nahi ki woh toh tune usse dilayi hai."

Both of them stopped walking, and each glared at the other. The tall bald man looked down at his companion and challenged him to take this talk even further who complied. The dark haired man got near his face, "Maine? Bhul mat ye tera idea tha,"

"Par itna jyada? Madarchod, mujhe toh ye darr hai, kahin woh ghar pe hilna suru na karde!"

"Toh ghar chod de laude, teri gand itni phat hi rahi toh nikal jaa, tujhe koi rok nahi raha."

"Bakrichod sun har raat jab woh ghar waapas aata hai khoon se lat-pat ho ke, pataa hai kitna darr lagta hai? Saala darr ye hai, kahin woh hummein hi maar na de. Baat bheje mein ghus rahi hai ki nahi chutiye?"

"Par woh aise karta toh nahi, hai ki nahi?" the dark haired man countered, but was responed quirkily,

"Aisa isiliye nahi karta, ki us waqt taq uss drug ka assar khatam ho chukka hai, par tu… raandwe, teri wajah se uski yaardash kam ho rahi—tere overdosing se."

"Chutiye tere doctori ki degree kaam par laa na,"

"Madarchod, doctor tha ek jamane mein, par researcher nahi, ek experimental drug ko uspe use kar ke uski insaniyaat khatam kar raha hai tu."

The man sardonically laughed, "Pehle toh tune hi usse introduce kiya, ki usse dard nahi hota, aur ab tu uske liye apne dost se jhagda kar raha hai?"

"Saala hai woh mera, bhadwe ki aulad."

"Saala hai toh usse ghar pe rakhna tha na tujhe, ek lab rat ki tarah uske upar use karne ka idea tera hi tha… tha ki nahi? Bol madarchod bol!"

A response Vajra's waited on his tongue, but came none to his parted lips for a retortal. It was partly his fault that the kid was dragged into their world, and somehow the taste of it became addictive to him. Eveytime, the kid demanded more—virtually, the drug had eaten up his conscious ability for sure. The memory lapses were just the beginning—and soon psychotic seizures will show up.

Surely the kid could endure, but the world would not. He was an unstoppable killing machine within perfect influence, without it—he was just another drunkard—or mentally unstable per se. But he wasn't unstable, just confused—confusion which Vajra carefully manipulated to try out that drug in the first place. His live-in partner, the kid's sister was not aware of him drugging both of them.

The woman's constant rambling—was rather irritating, her temper, her swagger everything was over the top to the point of over scorching his own fury. He won't deny it was a jackpot, having an emotion wretch with a brother who felt no pain—he was the perfect subject for it. His sister won't notice the change; and neither the treacherous world will care about him.

He will not deny that time had mellowed him; he felt something that he didn't think he would feel after struggling against the world for so long.

He felt loved, and which is why he was thinking—considering—opinionating his decision, their life was in his hands. Never more, he shall not put his brother-in-law in threat. However, he was long gone, so much drug had failed his system; his system which now solely depended on that drug.

Chauhan was brininging some dangerous purpose to spread all over the country—to obsess and mull over, most basic of them gave high energy to wreck through the night, but this was new—and the side-effects was dramatically horrific.

Vajra AKA, Dhananjay a retired doctor cared not about the world or the people living in it. But now, since he loves someone and the same adoration is shared with him by Manju. A family had he found in her, although he doubts whether she considers him as a family to begin with. Her nihilistic views were extreme—can be implied as borderline suicidal—if not for her brother.

"Mu mein lauda ghusa liya hai kya bhenchod? Jawaab de!"

"Sun bhosdike, woh meri galati thi usse tujhe milwake, rahi baat—sun dhyaan rakh kahin teri iss chutiya panti tujhe bhari na pade." The chaos under the calm was menacing, but his friend ruefully ignored the aggression.

However he humored it, "Dhamka raha hai mujhe? Kuch nahi hoga mujhe,"

"Doctor tu hai ki main? Dhyaan raakh, iss drug ke side-effect ke baare mein main thodi-bahut jaanta hoon. Aur jahaan tak mera gyaan kehta hai, toh kabhi psychotic daura pada, toh tu uske saamne mat jaana, warna woh teri bhi haal wohi karega, jo inn dino woh kar raha hai."

The silence was foreboding, as his companion digested his words carefully—slight fear crept up on his spine which he shook off. And stared blankly; he inhaled a big amount of smoke which he threw up over the halfmoon night.

"Toh iska matlab, tera saala apna aapaa kho raha hai,"

After a moment of dramatic silence, Dhananjay morosely said, "I'm afraid so."

* * *

_**A/N: **_So that's it people! I really hope you like it.

During writing the second-half- after the Embassy fiasco, and during the office. I realized I spend too much time writing unnecessary shits which takes a lot of time, so I've decide to tone it down. The next chapter shall be ready as soon as possible.

I apologize if you found something offensive.

Till then off~

_Previously known as, CosmicEardwulf.  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**_I'm back! Finally! It's been too long since I stepped forward to update this story. I have to apologize for not updating in due time. I'm going through some difficult yet memorable time of my life. I have no complaints regarding my problems although; I'm really disappointed for not giving my time to write further. During this long hiatus I've lost my flow, and motivation yet I'm dragging my blood and soul to complete what I've begun.

I was anxious to update but hopeless to finish.

I know this chapter is a lot shorter than my prior works. But I'm considering to put an end to this story (However, I will write one more chapter to reach a viable ending) and focus on writing other subject, which is a sequel to my other story High Tension.

Honestly, it has been far too long that I'm having trouble remembering names, so I'm re-reading it again to get back on track. Quite frankly I'm little forgetful, but don't worry I'll catch up.

**Rated: M** or **18+**

**Warning:** This chapter contains a disturbing suggestive theme which the reader may find offensive or unpleasant, also consists of coarse language, mentions of drug abuse along with grammatical and spelling errors. _This is a work of fiction; I do not and will not support anything I've written so far._

**Disclaimer:** Show belongs to SonyTV India and Mr. B.P. Singh.

* * *

_**BLOOD**_

_Chapter 5:__ I__nsanity Part-2 _

Daya had his little team, which consisted a young man and not-so-young anymore woman. After taking out a copy of that video in a tab which Shreya held—they arrived at the ATM and surveyed the area. It was not necessarily an isolated place, but very few shops were there. It was for sure, that the killer may have not been noticed by anyone there at that time of the night.

Unless someone from the club had seen it.

"Pankaj," Daya spoke, and the young man turned to look up at him. He continued without waiting for the young man's question, "Tumne uus club ke malkeen se baat ki hai na?"

Confused, Pankaj dumbly nodded, "Ji sir."

"Toh tumne pucha ki nahi, ki club ke entrants' ke list ke baare mein?"

That's when Pankaj remained tight lipped; he had not done anything regarding that. He just went there, somewhat talked about expensive beverages and ogled her body, in simple words. He didn't do shit. Daya sensing the reason behind the silence furrowed his eyebrows, and seeing that look churned a hidden grimace inside Pankaj. Daya looked disappointed, and that didn't last long as his temper appeared on his face.

"Ab mujhe bataane ki jaroorat nahi ki kya karna hai tumhe," Those words stung like a sword—sneakily yet effective it was. He had been an unuttered goof for a long time now, so long that if he could picture himself in CID—he cannot see himself. Had he been blind all this time?

"Ji sir," he muttered with head hung low. Awareness was good, and he'll get on track after helping Shreya search for clues. The club was a kilometer away or so; he could walk his way back there.

Shreya was surveying the area for any evidence or so, thinking a little help would suffice for him. The area was not small—she needed extra pair of eyes and hands to scavenge thoroughly through all that mess of a place. Even though it wasn't crowded but still it was mostly trees and leaves all over.

'_Why the fuck we have no more than two officers, that includes me and Pankaj on search here?'_

Daya remained where apparently the killer had placed himself. For obvious reason the clues might not be there because they were two days late to that particular place. Daya took the man's place and studied the place before him. Imagining, the night of crime—the place suddenly darkened five folds, converting that spot to the way the video showed.

He saw the man—whose face was foreshadowed, faceless—no identity coming towards him. Head bobbing foots in right places- that concludes the theory of his drunkenness. The man stood right in-front of him, as he threw few imaginative punches all over the place and then he went completely still.

It was eerie at that time of the night, and Daya could veritably visualize that. The slight twitches on his muscles were evident, and he described himself to be influenced. From Daya's perspective he was about as tall as him, although not nearly built as strong as him, but, he looked nowhere near skinny.

He was not weak, as he appeared.

The man popped down beside him and swayed back and forth with his back towards the ATM security camera. He sat crouched, and began shaking slowly—and eventually he picked up his pace. Soon, he terrifically shook his head like he was possessed. That pace was rattling, it may have given an ache, but Daya silently observed the faceless companion with narrowed eyes.

He was undergoing seizures.

"Sir," Daya's small visual empathy came to an end as he heard Shreya's voice, "Ye dekhiye,"

She held a piece of clothing—obviously torn and in shade of red. It was not rocket science to read that color in their business. It was made of black cotton, must be belonged to the spectator who saw the killer. His remembrance portrayed the suspect wearing a dirtied white full sleeved shirt and muddied black slacks; also he was barefoot. Which probably means nothing, for a man who had no tracks of murders before, or even had a trace of cases like this before.

This killer was new, his violence was new, and the killings were new. Most cases they solved either involved a motive behind the murders, but this man had no motive—he just wants to kill. Unafraid to be found, fearless of the consequences he might receive, regardless of the justice—it seems like all he wishes for is a kill. It's not even been fourth day and they've already found about six identified bodies. It may not seem like a large picture, but looking at the facts that his murder ratio is increasing. What if he had begun killing before, but now he wants people to see it? If he wants to been seen then what had possibly kept him at bay for so long?

Daya could go round and round and come back only to bash his own head for a clue, which was useless. This case was a fucking nonsensical piece of shit—no motive, no conscience and certainly no humanity under his scrutiny. If the killer wishes to be found then it's sure he will show himself, and they're going to clash. And, when that occurs he may not live through the days. He remained quiet for a long moment as he stared at the evidence—blankly, while Shreya just stood there with those bloodied shirt on her hands. Much to her annoyance, the man did not utter a word, only nodded at her, and walked elsewhere, and elsewhere was their vehicle.

His gait was slumped as if his general confidence was unprocurable, which to her shock was a first. He lacked that aura of self-praise now; the man was replaced like a zombie in a shell of a lively person. Shreya as much as she thought she should not get involved in his state of mind somehow managed to empathize with him. Surely, why not, her story was almost similar to him or at-least in their professional life.

"Sir," He didn't turn to look or even stopped on his track. "Aap thik toh ho na?"

He had lost weight, at-least to a keener viewer like her. The stubble on his jaw hid the fact that his cheek had lost the fluffiness. That pot belly was nowhere to be found. Perhaps, all he needed was a good dose of food, and maybe then he'll become a holly-jolly, good man like he used to be.

"Sir, aap free ho aaj?"

He dismissed, "Nahin, kyun?"

And, Shreya was a straight forward woman, "Dinner par aap chalna chahenge?"

She was surprised, as she held no intention of inviting him at all—her tongue slipped and soon she found herself feigning the obvious discomfort. But her heart spoke the truth yet her face remained stoic, all undercover works made her an extraordinary actor. Fakeness, and the fact that Daya's obliviousness to the subject made her feel miserable somehow.

Daya shrugged the matter without any sign of his usual irritation, just waved his arm like a douchebag and opened the door from the driver's side to retrieve a pack of cigarette.

'So that's how he's losing weight' she conceded, slightly surprised seeing him smoke but she didn't pressed the subject anymore.

"Dinner vinner baad mein Shreya, abhi evidence dhoondna jyada zaroori hai,"

She simply nodded, and got back to her scavenge, while Daya dragged a deep smoke, and joined her in their search.

Now, she kept wondering about the case, but the situation as a team they were going through was overcoming her sense of morality herself. It was worse; she missed the light hearted pair and the bond everyone shared with them. But a bad fish can spill the whole lake, which is what going on in their office.

Daya was that bad fish. And, he was taking everyone down with him.

She cared as much as the other man or woman, but she couldn't help but to feel indifferent about it. All of them were a mystery with Purvi being the only exception. But they didn't spend a considerable amount of time to know how the other thinks. They did not share empathy, if anything they were more casual.

Or perhaps Shreya was detached from most of them.

"Sir aapko kya lagta hai ye kiski qartoot hai?" She asked stealing a glance at him from her search.

"Ab tak toh main bhi confused hoon, ki ye gang related hai ya phir kisi psychopath ki."

"Kyun sir?"

"Bas us _kyun_ ki talaash hi hum kar rahe hai abhi." By now he had finished his cigarette, as he crushed the remains with his boots. "But by the nature, and tenancy we can safely assume it maybe a psychopath. Par aisi maut, underworld wale bhi de dete hai kabhi kabhar."

"Sir, agar underworld hote toh iski jaankari hummein abtak toh mil chuki hoti."

"Ye bhi saahi baat hai," he stood his full height, stretched his back which was aching for all the leaning he was doing for about an hour now, "Agar psychopath nikla, toh phir, investigation tab tak chalta rahega- jab tak woh apne aap hamare samne nahi aata..."

Wiping off the sweat from his forehead he continued, "... abhi toh sab formailites hai, for the sake of investigation- Pankaj ko ane do, phir list mein thehre logon ki jaanch padtal hogi... conclusion ussi se niklega, hopefully."

. . . .

It didn't took much long for him to reach his destination, as Pankaj huffed and puffed due to the brisk walk, he saw the place where the body was hung open. Dragging his almost exhausted body towards he entered the alleyway. As soon as he did,

"May I help you?" that lady's voice was familiar. The edge on her voice was threatening, and the slight crawl of nervousness scratched his skin. Taking a deep breath,

He turned sharply and noted the woman, "Deepti ji," he mustered through the exhale, as if he was glad to see her. Faking all the charm he possessed, he looked at her with eyes narrowed.

"Inspector," seeing him nod, she continued, "Aap yahaan?"

"On-site investigation, uss din kiya nahi tha, toh socha ab kar loon." he joked.

"Ji, toh kuch mila apko?" that question rang a bell on him, and he became doubtful of her.

"Nope, abhi hi pahuncha yahaan pe, par ye baad mein kar lenge," he paused, carefully observing her- wondering whether she was anxious or just the heat that was making her sweat before him, "Kya mujhe aap uss din ka guest list ki copy de sakte hain?"

"Zaroor," she complied as she dusted off some imaginary dusts from her jacket, "Kya uss din aap bhool gaye the?"

He was embarrassed but he maintained a straight face, and gave an honest reply, "Yes,"

Deepti's laughter didn't come as a surprise to him. Somehow, he expected every other girl to laugh at his antics- every normal girl, not the ones he spends time with in the office. He laughed along, but it didn't last long.

"Toh, list milegi?" the slight warning tone went ignored by the young woman. Nevertheless, she only nodded and turned back towards the front gate of the club. As Pankaj followed he reminded himself, there was a camera and probably she might've seen him coming there.

The interval between the apparent murder, gutting, and cleverly planted up at the wall was definitely calculating. Even a school kid can guess this club would be the first suspect amongst the list of imaginary list. The place was urban but the distance amongst other building was quite commendable.

It won't be strange someone noticing a crime happening, but for a crime to happen here around this part of the place is no doubt the best. Although, obscured, the security was far more advanced- with cameras in all housings, security guards and alarms no one would think of committing a theft much less of killing someone. The killer deliberately took his time _dressing _the victim for the exhibition.

The evidences seems far-fetched, this club seems to be hiding something more sinister. And, Deepti might or not be aware of it.

Breathing deep and difficult nauseous air, Pankaj entered the smoky club; before him the lady gracefully glided through the floor.

"Mukesh! Mukesh!" she called out for her henchmen who stepped out from the shadows much to Pankaj's dismay as he believed he was some kind of a ghost. Little jumpy, but Deepti didn't paid attention to his details- unlike him, who was very much interested in knowing the woman.

"Shekhar, kahaan hai? Inspector kuch puch taach karenge," that tall bald man was missing, Pankaj still remember his diabolic appearance.

"Ji madam, par aaj toh wo nahi aaya,"

"Nahi aaya?" Pankaj interjected.

"Ji nahi, wo toh kal se nahi aaya hai, boss se milneke baad,usne kaha uski tabiyat thik nahi hai- isilye wo nahi aaya aaj,"

"Kamaal hai," Deepti voiced, "Ye pehli baar hoga jab usne chutti li hai,"

"Well, well, he is a suspect now," Pankaj gleefully said, and why the hell not- this might be the first time he is feeling that it would be him to solve a case- top profile.

Mukesh warily eyed him, so did Deepti but it was a rather an indifferent look than wary. While he didn't feel offended at the woman but the man's gaze were deplorable and unacceptable for a police officer like him. He scowled in a twisted way and spoke,

"Mujhe tere club ki list chahiye," With a fake deep tone, Pankaj ordered Deepti's apparent bodyguard, "Tere jaan pehchan ke bouncers-vouncers jo bhi hai, unhe bulaa, abhi ke abhi, aur yaad karne ko bol kaun kaun andaar aaya tha yahaan pe,"

Mukesh still looked unfazed by Pankaj's approach.

"Abhi ke abhi." Pankaj repeated annoyed.

"Sir, ye mera club nahi, Deepti madam ki hai."

Deepti casually observed the tension building between the two men, curious of the results.

"Bhai main toh mazaak kar raha tha," Pankaj continued cheekily, "Bura maan gaye kya?"

The older man won't deny he was slightly flabbergasted with Pankaj's sudden shift in demeanor. Nevertheless, he dumbly nodded and went elsewhere to tend to what Pankaj ordered.

"Wo kya tha?" Deepti's curiosity brought a unceremonious boyish smile on his face.

"Mera kaam karne ka tareeka,"

Her laughed flipped his innards, and to add more sweetener, she spoke, "Aap bahut hi ajeeb ho,"

"I try to," his smile reached his eyes when she laughed merrily at his dumb remark. But soon her laughter ended. She gave off no sign of doubt, but acceptance which he noticed with reading her body language.

"Waise, achanak aapko kaise yaad aa gaya list ke baare mein,"

"Well, main naya hoon, toh rookie mistake, I suppose." he lied, or rather the cop inside him wished to keep his personality a secret.

"I see, well, sach kahoon toh main bhi iss managing kaam mein nayi hoon,"

"Chalo kuch toh common hai hum mein,"

And then an awkward silent fell upon her, but then she dared to open up, "Toh aap ko kya lagta hai ye kiska kaam hai?"

"Ek amateur se pooch rahi hain aap?" she nodded, "Mujhe lagta hai psychopath, perhaps."

"What?"

"Hmm, murder ka style ek common murderer to nahi kar sakta hai. It's calculated- which requires time, jo darsaata hai ki uske paas patience ki kami nahi hai."

"Usse kaise pata ki psychopath hi hai? If it's calculated, then any common man could do it with precautionary means." she countered.

"Correct in a way, common man can be a psychopath mind you. It's like this, ye murder ko study karne ke baad ye lagta hai ki ek aam aadmi ke paas, itni samajh nahi hai anatomy ke upar, unless he has done quite a bit of research to perform the art of surgery or the least post-Mortem."

"You mean a surgeon of some sort?"

"Exactly,"

"To aap list mein se unko search karenge jo aapke profile ko suit karta hai?"

"That's how police procedures happen, I suppose."

Mukesh arrived holding two flash drives, along with few documents, perhaps belonging to the bouncers and workers along with the guests who usually attended late night parties or casual club.

"Kya aap ke papa yahaan aate hain?" Pankaj's inquiry brought her attention on him, and before she could respond he strictly clarified faking an apologetic look, "It's the job."

Her attitude relaxed, of-course she felt obliged to be offended at that little question- it was her right. But, the man seemed genuinely sorry to ask, so she decided to reply.

"Haan, kabhi kabaar," However, it was also her right to defend her father's name, "But, I assure you that he is not involved in any of this."

"Got it, par ye hamara kaam hi kuch aisa hi hai... hope you understand, I'm helpless, I'm on your side- believe me, par agar mere seniors puch-taach karenge, unse aisi baat expect mat karna. Wo aate hi honge yahaan par." the barrage of lies he was spewing was genuine truth for a stranger like her. An extreme well-versed extrovert like him was a slow venomous liar at times necessary.

Not like he was frequent liar, but fabricating a story is really essential.

"Aisi baat hai?" he nodded. She didn't brood much long, and Pankaj learned that he was gradually earning his way swiftly, as she folded her arms over her chest thoughtfully.

He had no idea that he could be this persuasive at best.

"Toh aap unse milna chahenge?"

_'Yes' _though he inwardly screamed but maintaining a sane appearance was the most important thing to do at the moment. One slip of word no less an expression will be the end of everything he had built up with her.

Of-course he was sure of the fact that she must've been through everything he had done on his social platform, his notification didn't lie- as every few 'likes' belonged to her- but the trick was it was him who first conveyed his desire to be friends with her.

It wasn't embarrassing that he had poked her over FaceBook prior to her sending him a friend request. Keeping his own photo also helped he concluded.

"Where would you like to meet him?"

"I don't know, agar aap unhe abhi bulaa sakhti hai yahaan pe toh acha hota,"

"I can't, kaam pe honge."

"Kya karte hai wo?"

"Vikram Chauhan ka naam toh sunna hoga aapne?" he was slightly surprised. She was a product of a business tycoon. No wonder her demeanor reflected his father's- somewhat cold at times, her statuses were icy and brutally cold of truth and kind of rebellious.

As much he was aware of the man, the only thing that circled over his mind was a case regarding an employee suicide. And naturally, it weren't them to be called. The local police investigated the case and concluded it to be suicide. Throughout the controversy, the man's media appearances were indifferent- verbally straightforward. He denied any compensation towards the victim's family at all.

Nevertheless, the case only made News for only two days then it was overshadowed by some Salman Khan publicity thing.

If he needed an interview then he had to take Daya or Abhijeet, as only they had an authoritarian aura around them which may compel the rumored cruel man to speak about the murder that happened around his daughter's club.

"You must be lucky," her voice brought him back to reality, and soon he felt this might not be lucky as her father must be free at that moment. Pankaj looked at her indifferent face, "He's free, and would like to meet you."

"Cool..." '_I'm dead'_

. . . .

Arjun was feeling euphoric after the night's ordeal—it seems his memory was not deteriorating after-all. He sees monsters and nightmares everyday—and could feel a power he held over them. He could fight them, make them bleed, make them scream, and he could see them perish and became a product of his creation. And some belonged to stay deep within the mother.

It was a wonderful experience, adventurous indeed. And he was thankful.

His brother-in-law opened the door for him again—not his sister thankfully, as he was sordidly dirty. The stench of novel earth and colossus coarseness had overwhelmed his nose. The thing about his brother-on-law was he rarely talked to him. He could express in signs—but he never chooses to do so. It's either his sister that convey him messages or Lazar.

Though he knew he cared about him.

And, it is not for first time he used his hands to talk. He ordered him to get rid of the dirty clothes and wear fresh pair of clothes. As his sister was asleep; he didn't had to face her wrath.

He's skin has become red for some reason—it was visible despite of him having a bark which was brown. Why was it changing color? A burnt had finally marked him, and he panicked. Frantic—that if his sister sees him he was hurt again; he'll probably get beaten to pulp.

What does a person do when his skin is burning?

He shook it off—went straight into the kitchen and began washing it in a desperate sense. He even took out few ice blocks from the refrigerator and began rubbing it rather violently. The skin was reddening into a deep flush of red, while the young man panicked more.

Dhananjay stood behind to observe the young man who was rather unaware of surrounding. Delusional, it may be. The drug was overtly ruining his visual perspective, delusions were one thing and believing the mental deception is next level of work. The bald man could imagine, perhaps at some point his brother-in-law may feel like listening—as if that was even possible. He was deaf since he was born.

The young man before him; suddenly stopped, and stared up at the ceiling—dazed. The eeriness crept indolently; soothing and serenity—yet chaotic and disturbing.

His combat zone military experience along with being an on-stage medic during the battles had given him enough experience on mental, physical and psychological level. Dhananjay can access threat along he withholds the abilities to disarm it, he was perfectly capable. His brother-in-arms, whom he had a fierce conversation the night before was aware of his feats too. The night went sour; not only did they verbally abused the other but there were moments he wanted to downpour a heavy beating on his friend, Premchand.

It seems like his young brother-in-law is undergoing catatonia, he stood still as a mannequin—still and motionless. His sordid clothes were not only dirty from the soil and gutter stuffs, but the reddened fabric told him a story. A tale indeed it was; written in life and blood about destruction and death. Isn't that what the world so desperately needed and wished to see or live at the moment? Always curious—tragedy sells the most. Not long a day people didn't gave a shit about life, but as death conjured they will start caring.

A smoker will smoke till he infects his lungs to the point of degeneration, despite the early signs of expiration he'll continue till they know and experience a threat so severe that it gives them trauma. It'll get to their head, and their head will finally speak sense. Till then they will abuse, and till then they will live a decaying life. A life that is undeserved. A life without honor is a life that has no meaning at all.

A life has no meaning at all.

So, people must know what death is—more meaningful despite the chaos.

Arjun's skin began shaking—and Dhananjay saw the young man going through a violent spasm. The young man fell on the floor, and gurgled on the mattresses floor. Blood gushed through his nose and ears, as his whole anatomy trembled before his spectating brother-in-law, who just stood where he was and studied the undergoing physical condition of the young man.

He shook and shook, till he crashed into the dining table, tumbling all the objects to fall, and some shattered upon impact. The spastic young man rolled and thrashed along those broken pieces of glasses—smearing and tearing. He finally stopped; once again attaining the catatonic state as a gateway to peace for now.

Manju,

The woman peaceful slept on her bed peacefully like every night. The everyday stress was taking a toll on her body and mind. Tiresome— she was also worried about her little brother, who stayed away most of the day and returned late at night after she laid rest in bed. Neither sibling had a decent conversation for two days now.

Two days and twenty two bodies were laid rest.

And this young man had been killing for over a week now. Arjun, the young man was presently choking on his own vomit. His pants traced a thick reek of urine too. It is not a symptoms, it is a fucking abomination of an overdose. But, the man is not capable to counter it, no; Dhananjay was so far from this condition that he kept backtracking to oblivion. This young man will probably die soon, that's the only way to go out. If he lives he'll probably live a lifeless life, as a paralyzed broken man. The drugs were necessary to keep his thought process functioning, if not conveyed, it'll destroy everything the host carried. Now, what a body is without a mind?

Dhananjay will be 40 the day after, but does that even matter considering saving a life by killing it? And when that life belongs to a person he thought he cared about in this wretched world. Cared more than the philosophy he believed in.

This treacherous experiment and his forbidden curiosity had not only corrupted a young and lively young man. Did he care now that this subject was awaiting demise?

His sister will probably feel bad about it. After-all they were bound to something over blood and genetic. They lived through thick and thin—together, fought against the world. She alone was capable of doing so, but alas the mind is cunning—the mind is troublesome.

A troubled and disturbed mind can be molded to something else—quite easily that too. Dhananjay was a curious man ever since he was child. And growing up, he realized that he held keen interest on psychology or so. Even though he cannot coin a term but he knew few big words. As of now, he must say—he felt a hidden disdain towards everyone now; even his own self.

He could've done all of it way before.

His resentment brought him back to reality, as he dug inside his pocket and retrieved a dose of pill. He took out four of them, and shoved them inside his throat. He took the pill to reduce his anger; a pill to induce a mild trance for him to calm his temper. And this past week he has been taking a lot of those. It may not be euphoric like the one his brother-in-law was consuming but still it was a kind of sedative for the brain.

His anger was the cause for him to leave the unit, and his anger alone made his life miserable. His wrath made him torture and murder people both in track and out of it. They kicked him out, made him poor and pathetic. A lonely, depressing and suicidal kind of life was his'.

As far as he can think of the only person who relied on his skills was Chauhan. He fed him, gave him a job—he eventually became a fiercely loyal worker to him. He trusted his agenda, even though it did not work, but he was a kind man. Dhananjay considered him a good man with a family he was envious of, a nice wife, beautiful child—everything a man desired, Chauhan had those. Unlike his own "_family_", a wife who rarely noticed or paid attention to him, the only thing she cared for was that mute of a brother.

What kind of a sister bathed his young man of a brother? What kind of a fucking incestuous relationship they shared… The kid wasn't retarded or so, the man never understood what drove her to that point of over protectiveness. She failed to admit that she and her brother weren't the only one to go through all those years of psychological scars. This man did too.

"Madarchod," he grumbled to himself, as he guzzled few more pills down his throat. His thoughts were going astray. These ridiculous things only made him more furious.

He spit elsewhere, and turned his attention back to the place where his brother-in-law laid. But, odd—he was not there anymore.

The hairs on his neck stood up, as a shiver ran down his spine. Chilled became the room, as an eeriness spread across the whole house. Cold—ghastly, and silent and many words that could be taken out, but Dhananjay found none. His brain stopped functioning as he could not access the situation anymore. That young man was dangerous, and in his own drugged up state, Dhananjay may not be able to defend if he was going to be attacked. His drug was a sedative while the young man's blood carried an over-fueled flame which was the reason for his violent tendency. And, in that state his fighting skills exceeds far above than Dhananjay's. He could not defend himself.

Perhaps he was over analyzing; perhaps the young man had gone to his own room to tend to his things. Or maybe, just maybe he had made a run towards his sister's room.

"Dekh kya raha hai? Dhoond usse, maar de usse…" that voice belonged to his one and only friend, Premchand. He forgot he chose to stay the night with them, he continued to spoke in a whispery voice, "…maar usse, Dhanjay maar de!"

Dhananjay hesitated, "Soch kya raha hai? Tere zindagi mein kuch bacha bhi hai? Tere nasseb se dono—naukri aur chokri dono chale gaye. Uus launde ke paas teri aurat ka attention tha aur ab bhi hai…"

He stepped closer and got near his face, and his face had a sinister mocking grin, "…aur tu bas iss baat ka intezaar mein hai ki woh tujhe bhao de degi. Par madarchod, tunne usse shaadi ki hai kya isi baat ke liye ki wo apna waqt tujhe na dekar uss bhen ke laude ko de? Tune shaadi kya muthiya marne ke liye kiya hai?"

"Uus ladke ko maar de, kisi ko pataa nahi chalega. Maar de usse, uss khooni ko maar de!"

And, everything went blank on his mind. As if death had already arrived. Unknowingly Dhananjay already had his hands on a butcher knife and it already was covered in blood—which was dry.

_To be continued..._

* * *

**_A/N: _**So, here we are again a step closer towards the end.

I confess this chapter is written without any aim or plan. I had trouble continuing after unraveling my last chapter which I consider slightly better than all of my works combined. Therefore, I lost my flow and my consciousness drifted elsewhere towards my problem and I couldn't focus. Although, hopefully, I've reached to a point where I could start off again, and update as soon as possible.

I don't expect this chapter to be likable at all. Like I've mentioned before, I was somewhat unfocused while writing all of it. However, I assure you my next chapter shall be better than this.

My apologies if you've found something offensive.

I'll be back.

~_Formerly known as Bossmann, CosmicEardwulf and TwistetSobek_

_P.S. Kind of a gimmick I change my pen name before updating. _:P


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